


































r o - 5 c ^ 

THE 


LIMERICK YETERAN; 


THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

/ 


By AGNF.S M. STEWART 



BALTIMORE: 

KELLY, PIET AND COMPANY, 
171 W. Baltimore Street. 

1873. 



\ 


Entered, according to an Act of Congress, in the year 1S73, by 
KELLY, riET AND COMPANY, 
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

I. — Passing Away 1 

It. — T he Marriage at the Hotel de Breteul 11 

III. — Tiie Espousals 21 

IV- — The Post-House at Normancourt 20 

V. — Turned Adrift .31 

VI. — The Hut in tiie Glen 84 

VII. — Denis makes Proposals to tiie Widow Began, 4G 

VIII. — Over to Prance 51 

IX. — A Prince at a Discount, 5G 

X. — The Escape GO 

XI. — Under the same Hoof Tree G5 

XII. — After Many Years 75 

XIII. — Tiie Old, Old Tale 79 

XIV. — On the Watch 84 

XV. — Caught in the Snare 92 

XVI. — A Mystery' 100 

XVII. — (Continued.) 110 

XVIII. — Between Night and Morning 119 

XIX. — Misgivings 124 

XX. — Gone 133 

XXI. — The Old Home in tiie Edinburgh Close 13G 

XXII. — The Beginning of the End 139 

3? A. R T SECOND. 

I. — The Raising of the Standard 151 

II. — The Betrothal 155 

III. — The Battle of Preston Pans 1G0 

IV. — The Confession 1G4 

V. — TnE Sgsur Madeleine 174 

VI. — Baffled Hopes 184 

VII. — Out of Danger 189 

VIII. — The Story' of a Penitent 193 

IX. — The Veteran Marshal — S ans Pcur et Sans Rc- 

proche 204 

X. — The Fugitive Prince 211 

XI. — A Royal Wanderer 224 

XII. — -The Seven Men of Glenmoriston 228 

XIII. — Condemned to Death 231 

XIV. — In Memoriam 239 

XV. — Fareavell to the Highlands. 244 

XVI. — Florence Court * ..,,,,,.,,...248 
















THE 


LIMERICK VETERAN; 

OR, 


THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


CHAPTER I. 

PASSING AWAY. 

RAW aside the curtains, my faithful Jessy, so 
that tho beams of the rising sun may stream 
into the room, and bring to me my uncon- 
scious babe that I may kiss and bless her ere 

I die.” 

“ Dinna say sic a thing, my dear young leddy, wha could 
sio a puir body as mo do wi the bonny bairn ?” 

“ You will leave your home, Jessy, and tako my child to 
my father’s house in the Canongate,” replied the dying 
woman, “and beseech him to show that mercy to my child 
which he denied to its mother.” 

“ Rut his honour will bid me gang awa wi mony a hard 
word, sic as he gaid you, my leddy, when he drove you 
frae his door.” 

“ Nevertheless, my dear Jessy, you will run the risk for 
love of me, and if he refuse to grant my dying prayer, then 



2 


THE L1MEIUCK VETERAN; 


convey my child to my late husband’s aunt, Mrs. Lindsey, 
of Dundee, and beseech her to be a mother to my babe. 
You know •where my little stock of gold is placed, Jessy; 
there is enough to pay your expenses and bring you back to 
your home.” 

The nurse moved across the room, and drawing aside a 
curtain revealed a scene of indescribable beauty. The cot- 
tage in which Margaret Lindsey had taken refuge when 
expelled from her father’s house in Edinburgh, on account 
of her marriage with a penniless young Jacobite, was a 
shade above the class generally inhabited by persons in the 
position of her foster-mother, and on account of her former 
connection with the family of David Grtiham, she had mary 
little comforts even for her use. 

It was situated on tho summit of a hill, overlooking a 
beautiful valley, the sides of which were clothed with hazels, 
the silvery birch , and gigantic oaks; yet higher other emi- 
nences arose, some dotted with purple heath, others bare 
and craggy, whilst in the distance towered the lofty moun- 
tains, veiled in the blue mist of early morning, which grad- 
ually melting away under the influence of the sun revealed 
them clearly as they stood forth in huge unwieldly masses 
filling up the back ground. 

The silence of this picturesque spot was broken only by 
the babbling waters of a brook in the valley beneath, which, 
formed by the mountain torrent, wended its way through 
many a flowery maze till it reached the vale. 

The belongings of the cottage or hut, for, notwithstand- 
ing what I have said, in English eyes it would be but little 
more in accordance with the wildness of the spot. The 
floor of the outer room was but of clay with the usual peat 
fire in the centre, but within were two rooms with boarded 
floors, and a very few articles of furniture of the plainest 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


3 


kind ; but the soft bed bung around with curtains, the 
whiteness of which was scarcely surpassed by the pallid face 
of the dying girl, and carefully arranged so as to screen her 
from the draughts, together with various necessary articles 
for domestic use, were to be seen in no other cottage in that 
wild spot. 

Margaret was propped up by pillows, and ever and again 
a crimson stream rose to her lips as a hard cough shook her 
delicate frame ; eagerly she peruses a letter her feeble hand 
has traced, to be delivered after her death to the person she 
has named ; and then taking a miniature from a table beside 
her, representing herself in happier days, with the name of 
Margaret Graham engraved on the back, she secured it to a 
piece of ribbon, which she drew through a small gold ring 
set in the frame. 

In a few moments the wail of an infant sounded in her 
car, and Jessy reappeared, bearing in her arms the uncon- 
scious offspring of one too early wed, and whose eighteen 
brief years had comprised the several states of maid, wife, 
and widow. 

A faint gleam of pleasure lighted up the wan countenance 
of the girl mother as she gazed on the infant whose short 
span of life numbered but three months, and she bade Jessy 
lay the child beside her. 

Long she remained silently gazing on the child, who had 
fallen asleep, at first with that rapturous delight with which 
a mother regards her first born, then with a sentiment of the 
keenest sorrow, as she thought how, in the first days of its 
helpless infancy, it would be thrown wholly on the care of 
the simple but well-intentioned old nurse, at whose bosom, 
when under her father’s roof, she had herself drawn the 
first nurture of infancy, and then followed a flood of tears 
at the remembrance that she was leaving her child thus for- 
lorn and desolate. 


4 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


Unfortunate Margaret, slie had not a mother’s fostering 
care in her own helpless childhood, and had grown up with 
none to teach her needful self-discipline and control. For 
a very few years of her short life, however, when her father 
suddenly awakened to the consciousness that the beautiful 
young girl whom he had consigned wholly to the care of 
Jessy McLaren, her nurse and foster-mother, even allowing 
her to dwell with her in her widowed home in Perthshire, 
was growing up wholly uneducated, the wealthy Edinburgh 
trader placed her in a boarding school, and then considered 
ho had done his duty by his motherless child, first for having 
allowed the old nurse to have the charge of his child so long, 
and then in sending her for five years to a boarding school, 
from which, when emancipated at the age of seventeen, well 
grafted in a few frivolous accomplishments, she was yet 
sadly devoid of all that was more substantial, her mind little 
better than a blank, and singularly unfitted to cope with the 
snares and dangers of the world at this most critical moment 
for her future well-being, he considered that he further dis- 
charged himself of his duties towards her by placing her 
under the control of a second wife, a young woman whom 
he had raised from the post of a domestic in his household 
to that of its mistress. 

Margaret had not seen her father’s second wife till her 
boarding school days were at an end. When she returned 
to her paternal home, it was to feel herself a stranger in 
every sense of the word. She was repulsed by tho home- 
liness and vulgarity of the woman who had long occupied 
tho place she had herself hoped to fill, whilst her father’s 
neglect stung her to the quick. Her home was widely dif- 
ferent from that which, in her early school days, she had 
loved to picture to herself, and she soon realized the fact 
that her somewhat wild life in her foster-mother’s cottage 


OR, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 


5 


was infinitely happier than that she was doomed to live in 
Edinburgh. 

Her lovely face, however, soon won for her an offer of 
marriage, and as her stepmother had now a little girl, Mar- 
garet, who had ever been more or less an outcast from her 
fathers home and his affections, was voted in the way, and 
arrangements for her marriage with a suitor well advanced 
in life pushed on with indecorous haste. 

But young as she was, her will was as inflexible as that 
of her father. Her affections were already given to a young 
cavalier, by name, Robert Lindsey. Landless and almost 
penniless, he had yet ventured to raise his eyes to Margaret, 
and whilst yet her father’s friend waged his suit with an 
obstinate pertinacity, dreading the finale which would inev- 
itably ensue, fair Margaret gave her hand for better for 
worse to the gallant young soldier who, a few week later, 
was expected to join the forces of the Chevalier de St. 
George, at Preston, in Lancashire. 

A very few weeks after this ill-starred union sufficed to 
show Margaret that she had reckoned without her host in 
supposing she would soften her father after she had boldly 
defied his authority, and she discovered her mistake in the 
way I shall narrate. 

The father and daughter were one morning seated together, 
he busy with his account books, she at an embroidery frame, 
with her heart far away, and a tiny circlet of gold which 
she had far better not have possessed secreted in her bosom. 
- But time would not linger, though her resolution did. 
She had been for some months the wife of Lindsey ; her 
father was pushing on the overtures of the rich corn-factor, 
and she must tell the truth now or never. 

I have forgotten to tell you that both by word and by 
letter, Lindsey had sought to obtain tho consent of Graham 
1 * 


6 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


to his nuptials with his daughter, but had he been better off 
in this world’s goods than he really was, he might as well 
have tried to draw water from a rock as to change the mind 
of David Graham when it was once made up. 

Now lie lays aside his ledger and prepares to descend 
into the counting-house, pausing for one moment, however, 
just as Margaret is about to summon courage to detain him, 
he said : 

“ My friend, Donald Miller, will be wi us again e’en, 
male yourscll as bonny as possible in the braw claithcs I 
hac ordered for you.” 

“Father, dear father, I must speak to you, indeed, I 
must,” said Margaret, starting up to intercept his progress 
to the door. “ I cannot be the wife of Donald Miller.” 

“ Hout na, you dour limmer, baud a care or you shall 
dree a sair weird ye arc no bairn o’ mine, suld ye refuse, I 
gic ye nac tosher if ye wed that papist gabertccn zic, Rob- 
ert Lindsey.” 

“ Oh, father, father, I have married him ; he is my hus- 
band,” replied Margaret, throwing herself on her knees, 
and endeavoring to prevent him from leaving the room. 

“ Wha was that ye said ? ” and David stood liko one spell- 
bound as he asked the question. 

“ Dear father, forgive us both, I have married Robert,” 
was the simple reply. 

“ Thin my ban rest upon ye, nanc o’ my gear will 1 gic 
ye, lie is a Jacobite and a gaberlcmzec to boot, I winna set 
cen on ye agin, I charge ye leave mo for him whom you 
have tacn.” 

As David Graham spoke these words he wrenched him- 
self from the grasp of his child ; she fell on the ground in 
a heavy swoon, but on her recovery she hastened to her 
room, packed up the few things she possessed, together 


OR, THE POSTER SISTERS. 


7 


with a not inconsiderable sum in money which, given to her 
for her own use, she had carefully economized, and with a 
heart smarting under the injustice of her father, forgetting 
that if he had no right to command her to marry against 
her will, lie had a right at her inexperienced age to forbid 
her marriage with a mere soldier of fortune like Lindsey, 
she departed on a journey to her foster-mother’s home in 
Perthshire, having first posted a letter to her husband. 

Late one evening after Jessy had retired to rest, she was 
awakened by a knocking at the door of her cottage. 

When fully aroused, she left her bed and, without open- 
ing the door, called from within : 

t( Wha makes sic a din at a puir body’s door at this time 
o’ nccht ? ” 

“Jessy, Jessy, for the love of God, open to your foster- 
child,” was the reply, followed by a long wailing cry. 

“ Whisht, now, and is it my bonny leddy?” said the old 
woman, as hastily opening the door she beheld Margaret 
shivering without. Pale, exhausted, and feeble, she stag- 
gered within the cottage, and exclaiming: “ Oh, my foster- 
mother, I have traveled all this way to feel your loving arms 
around me,” she fell senseless on the floor. 

After using a few simple restoratives, the good Jessy suc- 
ceeded in restoring her to consciousness; then, when she 
had fairly revived, she hastily threw on a few clothes, and 
speedily returning she said, while making preparations for 
refreshment for Margaret: 

“ I am unco glad that I hae still some o’ the gude wine 
my bairn sent me from Auld Reekie ; I hae part o’ a muir 
cock, too, and eggs, and white bread; and whiles you cat, 
I winna let you talk.” 

Then Jessy exerted herself to perform all the duties of a 
hospitable hostess, and with no small pleasure beheld Mar- 


8 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


garet make a good meal, though before it was over the lat- 
ter had insisted on telling her of her expulsion from her 
father’s home. 

She had not dwelt at Jessy’s cottage more than a couple 
of months when the news of her husbaud’s death reached 
her. Under the pressure of grief and anxiety, her health 
visibly declined, and after the birth of her child the efforts 
of the village Esculapius, who, from the first, had avowed 
his belief that the young lady had but a short time to live, 
were of no avail. 

To return from my long digression. Margaret had 
remained some time buried in her sad thoughts after Jessy 
had, as she had requested, laid the child beside her, when 
suddenly she called her to her bedside. 

“Could you try again to bring to me the priest, dear 
nurse, whom I used to see before I went to Edinburgh ? ” 

“ I ken nae where he may be found, my bairn ; these arc 
sair times for priests ; awhilcs he hides amang the moun- 
tains, and gladsome are we whin we see him, but I ken 
nothing of him noo.” 

“Listen to me, Jessy. See my babe baptized in the 
faith I first learned from your lips, and let her bear my 
name. This letter you will give to Mrs. Lindsey should my 
father refuse to sec my child, and be careful to hang my 
miniature around her neck before you resign her to the care 
of others. And now, good nurse and foster-mother, let mo 
lay my head upon your bosom, for I am faint even unto 
death.” 

Not without many pauses and much difficulty had Mar- 
garet spoken thus, and Jessy was alarmed at beholding a 
sudden change pass over her features. 

For a few moments she reclined in the arms of her nurse, 
gasping for breath, Jessy’s tears falling in torrents down 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


9 


her rugged countenance as she gently wiped the heavy dews 
from Margaret’s face. She had hoped against hope, and it 
was only now when her foster-daughter lay in the arms of 
death that she became aware the last moment was drawing 
nigh. 

The consolation, however, for which Margaret’s heart had 
yearned was not denied her. The aged priest, who occa- 
sionally brought the ministrations of religion by stealth to 
those dwellers amidst the mountains who yet kept true to 
the Catholic faith, had that morning turned his steps to the 
valley in which Jessy’s cottage stood, wishful to sec if she 
were still there. 

The door of the hut stood open, but no one was visible, 
but from an inner room he heard sounds of grief mingled 
with the moans of one in mortal anguish. 

Very gently, on hearing the strange footfall without, 
did Jessy remove the arm which had supported the dying 
girl, and hastened to see who was the intruder. 

“ Gude guide us, and is it you, Father Luthbcrt,” said 
she, “ come in to my puir bairn, the sweet winsome young 
leddy ; it is nearly all over wi her.” 

A flash of joy illumined poor Margaret’s features as the 
aged priest approached her bed. The faults she had com- 
mitted were occasioned by her indiscreet bringing up, but 
her heart had yearned for other words than those of poor 
simple Jessy. 

Broken sentences gasped out painfully, and whatever had 
troubled the conscience of the dying girl burthened it no 
longer. The Bread of Life, too, was hers, brought, as it 
were, miraculously to strengthen her spirit in its flight, yet 
when all should have been calmness and praise, a sudden 
thought disturbed her. She could not speak, but by a sign 
she made Jessy understand that her care was for her child 


10 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


A little water from the brook without, when her foster- 
mother made known to the priest that the babe was unbap- 
tized, was brought hastily in, and by the side of the dying 
mother the sacred rite of baptism was administered and the 
child christened by the name of Margaret. 

A smile of unspeakable delight had flitted over its mother’s 
face as Jessy received the infant in her arms when the cere- 
mony was over Then the priest again turned to speak 
words of hope and consolation to the mother, but her spirit 
had already passed to a better world. 



11 


OK, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE MARRIAGE AT TIIE HOTEL DE BRETEUL. 

OFTLY steals the sunlight through the stained 
windows of an elegant apartment in the Hotel 
de Breteul. The buzz of many voices of per- 
sons assembled in the adjoining room strikes 
upon the ear, but those of whom I am going to speak 
to you have stolen away from the busy throng for a <juict 
half hour to themselves. 

The elder of the party is a lady of somo forty-five years 
old. Her features are still beautiful ; she was brilliant in 
her youth, and she is a lovely woman still. 

Beside her stands a youth and a maiden. Each are in the 
spring-time of life. The features of the young man strik- 
ingly resemble those of the elder lady, with, perhaps, the 
only difference being that his are masculine ; but the arched 
eyebrows, lustrous violet blue eyes, the somewhat haughty 
curve of the short upper lip, the small, smooth and straight 
nose, are strikingly alike in both. 

The maiden has not passed the years of girlhood, and he; 
clean, dark complexion, black eyes, and raven tresses, have 
won for her the reputation of a beauty. 

But a deep sigh escapes the girl, and two large tears fell 
on the hand of the elder lady which she holds within her 
own. 

“Nay, Cecile; what, in tears at the very thought that 
Walter has shortly to leave us,” said she ; “ remember, my 
child, that you arc about to become the bride of a soldier, 
and should rather rejoice that he is soon to draw his 

maiden sword from its scabbard. You must take courage, 

/ 

and like the wife of a true soldier, yourself gird on youi 
husband’s sword for the battle.” 





12 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

The girl visibly shuddered as the lady spoke : 

“ Tell me, Walter, that you will not leave me for at least 
a month after our nuptials ; tell me this, and I will try and 
be at rest.” 

“ My beloved Cecile,” replied the young man, “ do you 
not know that the king is expected here hourly, and that, 
perhaps, even in two short days I may have to accompany 
my father to Scotland?” 

“ So soon, so soon, I could scarcely believo them when I 
heard them say that preparations were already being made 
for a descent into Scotland.” 

“Cheer up, my dear Cecilc, Walter will come back to 
you, rest assured, and when next he leaves you, you will be 
more courageous.” 

“ Fill my heart with somewhat of your own courage, dear 
madam. I have heard you suffered much in your youth, 
and bore your trials bravely.” 

“A captive in the court of Queen Mary, Cecile, threat- 
ened with a union my very soul abhorred, I was for a long 
while ignorant whether one whom I truly loved and to 
whom I was betrothed was living or dead. I am a prey to 
natural fear full often, but proud to bo the wife of one 
who draws his sword in a rightful cause. Loving both 
ardently, I see my husband and my son go forth to tho 
field ; all that renders life dear to me would be lost in losing 
them.” 

“ Courageous descendant of the O’Neills, dear Lady St. 
John,” said Cecile, forcing back her tears, “I will try to 
learn courage and heroism of you.” 

“And when our king has his own again, Cecile,” said 
Walter, “you will rejoice in the thought that my good 
right arm has struck a blow in his cause ; but let us return 
to the salon, it will not be well for us to be missed for 
long.” 


OB, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 


13 


The Baron do Breutcl’s Mansion was tho resort of all the 
ardent and disaffected spirits that were averse to tho Hano- 
verian rule, and as tho time fixed for the marriage of the 
son of the Marshal and Lady St. John with tho daughter 
of an old friend happened to coincide with that of tho rising 
in November, 1715, in favor of the claims of the Chevalier 
St. George, the Hotel de Breteul was thronged with com- 
pany. 

When tho three re-entered the salon, they beheld amongst 
tho gay group forming, indeed, its centre, a handsome young 
man apparently about six and twenty years of age. He wore 
tho dress of a French Abbe, but every one present knew 
him to be tho son of the late king, James the Second. As 
now, so it was at the time of which I write, and will bo till 
tho end of the world, if monarchy endures so long, each 
fair dame and maiden in the salon pushed forward, anxious 
to a get a word or even a smile from the scion of an ill-fated 
race, whom tho English Court and its upholders termed the 
Pretender. Perhaps this chivalrous feeling too was born out 
of tho very misfortunes of tho House of Stuart, which for 
so many centuries had given sovereigns either to England 
or Scotland. Any way, happy were the maids and matrons 
that night, whatever their country, and the loyal Irish who 
had fought and bled at Limerick, and English, Scotch, and 
French alike were there, who eagerly treasured up every 
word that fell from the lips of the Chevalier. 

Nor were tho two or three gentlemen who alone accom- 
panied him in his hasty and private visit to his friends for- 
gotten. Unfortunately for the Chevalier, the bright eyes 
of a young kinswoman of the Baron’s attracted the attention 
of Lord Keith, one of tho Prince’s gentlemen in waiting. 
A sore thing it must be to the self-love and vanity of woman 
when superceded by another of her sex, supposing she has 
2 


14 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


given away lier heart before she dreamed it was no longer 
in her keeping. 

Adele de Bretcul was still unmarried ; her heart, her 
hand, her large fortune, might have been Lord Keith’s for 
the asking ; if she lacked the freshness of eighteen, she pos- 
sessed what is more worthy of admiration in the minds of 
many, namely, the matured charms of twenty-four ; what 
she had lost of the simplicity of early youth she had gained 
in the self-possession and grace of womanhood ;• and yet she 
beheld herself put aside for “a miss in her teens,” a mere 
visitor in her brother’s house ; she monopolized the attentions 
of Lord Keith, and as plainly as she dared she let Made- 
moiselle de Brcteul know that she gloried in the conquest 
she had made. 

Vainly had Emilio endeavored to lure away Lord Keith 
from that silly prattler ; her stratagems were useless ; he had 
no eyes, no ears for any one but Angeliquc. Not only had 
Emilie felt keenly the overtures for marriage made to her 
niece by Walter St. John, simply because she was herself 
unmarried, but she was to feel the pangs of jealousy as well, 
and she stole away to an adjoining apartment to give free 
vent to her emotion, lest she should betray herself before 
others. 

“To be set aside for her, a vapid, silly girl, with no 
attraction but her doll-like face ; had she my own intelli- 
gence or wit, I might have borne that another should com- 
pete with myself; she secs too what I suffer, and glories in 
my mortification.” 

Emilie had wandered away far from the gay company and 
the brilliantly-lighted salon ; she had seen the King retire 
with two of his companions to the Baron’s cabinet, and had 
observed that Lord Keith had lingered behind in conversa- 
tion with Angelique ere, maddened with jealousy and anger, 
she had sought her present solitude. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


15 


It was early winter, but the apartment to which she had 
turned her steps was faint with the fragrance of a profusion 
of rare exotics. Her rage had subsided into a determina- 
tion to revenge herself in some way which should effectually 
separate her detested young relation from the object of her 
misplaced affection, and leaning against the basin of a foun- 
tain, her fingers relentlessly destroyed a fair magnolia, the 
leaves of which she stripped and cast them into the clear 
waters beneath. She was unconscious of her exterior 
actions, but her mind was busy enough as to how she should 
work out her revenge. 

“ I do not want to injure the Chevalier,” she said to her- 
self, “ but even this must be, even lie must be sacrificed 
rather than that odious girl shall become Lady Keith, or 
that lie should triumph ; for, alas, I fear my very self-res- 
pect has abandoned me, and that I have betrayed a secret 
which I ought to have guarded as jealously as my honor 
itself. I shall put a stop to any previous offer of marriage 
my lord may choose to make my precious cousin by at once 
hastening to the embassy. The Earl of Stair will put a 
stop to this proposed trip to Scotland.” 

A little later a female, clad in a dark mantle and closely 
veiled, passed through the back entrane'e of the mansion 
used only by the domestics of the household. The confu- 
sion within, caused by the influx of visitors, favored both 
her departure and return. Those who saw her pass swiftly 
by believed her to be one of the female servants of the 
establishment, despatched on an errand, little thinking that 
it was the sister of the loyal Baron dc Bretcul on her way 
to betray the prince, then a guest beneath his roof, into the. 
hands of his enemies. 

It was very late at night when Emilie arrived at the 
Hotel of the English Embassy. She requested to be intro- 
duced without delay to the Earl of Stair. 


10 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“ His lordship could be seen in the morning; this is a 
very late hour,” was the reply to her hasty demand. 

“My business with the Earl admits of no delay,” she 
said, with a haughty gesture; “ I must see him at once.” 
Then suddenly remembering that her disguise, coupled with 
t he lateness of the hour, and she alone, and on foot, might 
of itself tend to make the man refuse compliance with her 
request, she adopted the safe plan of slipping a twenty 
franc piece into his hand, in doing which she displayed a 
costly diamond ring on one of her fingers. 

The bribe had the desired effect. The next moment she 
was in the private apartment of one of the Chevalier’s 
greatest enemies, the Earl of Stair. 

Iler manner was impetuous and hurried. 

“ Persons attached to the British Embassy have for some 
days been on the watch to apprehend the Chevalier de St. 
George. I am correct, am I not? You have demanded in 
the name of your sovereign, King George, that lie shall 
not be allowed to pass through France ? ” 

“Exactly so, and to what may this preamble tend, my 
unknown informant ? ” 

The Earl’s question, was parried with another. Instead 
of his receiving a direct reply to his own, probably the lady 
wished to satisfy him that sho knew as much, or more, of 
the movements of the unfortunate Chevalier than he did 
himself. 

“ And as the regent to whom you have addressed your- 
self, my lord, has failed in having him arrested and re-con- 
ducted to Lorraine, you have yourself sent your men out in 
all directions, but he is so well disguised that hitherto all 
your efforts have failed, have they not, my lord ? ” 

Lord Stair gave vent to an angry exclamation. 

“ Who arc you, madam,” he said, “ and with whatinten- 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


17 


tion have you addressed yourself to me ? If you can make 
me cognizant of the movements of the Pretender, I pray 
you, speak out. At present, all you have said has made 
me aware that you know as much as I do myself; hence, I 
assume that you know much more if you choose to dis- 
close it.” 

“ The Chevalier de St. George is in Paris. He sets out 
to-morrow for Chateau Thierry on his way to Bretagne, and 
he will change horses at the village of Normancourt.” 

The Earl listened with unqualified amazement. 

“Accept my best thanks for your information, madam. 
I beg the honor of being made acquainted with your name.” 

“I have fulfilled my errand, Lord Stair, and choose to 
preserve my incognito.” 

As Emilie spoke thus she slightly bowed, hurried from 
the room, descended the staircase, and a few moments later 
threaded, with a rapid step, the spacious streets which lay 
between the British Embassy and her brother’s mansion. 

She had been absent exactly an hour from the gay assem- 
bly in the salon. She re-entered her own chamber unno- 
ticed by any one, and speedily arrayed herself in the costly 
robe she had laid aside ere she started on her cruel mission, 
and she was startled at the ghastly reflection of her face pre- 
sented to her by her mirror. After a moment’s thought, 
she said to herself: 

“It is well. I can plead illness as the cause of my 
absence. My disordered looks will bear me out, even if I 
do not send a message to my mother to say that I am ill, 
which, perhaps, would be the better course.” 

Thus she stood for a few moments hesitating, till the 
reflection of her own handsome face, ill though she looked, 
turned her thoughts in another direction, and her eyes 
flashed with indignation at the thought of the persons, to 
2 * 


18 THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

separate whom she had committed so dire a wrong on the 
Chevalier. 

“ No, no,” she said, “ I must return to the salon, if it 
be only to have the gratification of seeing him, and remem- 
bering what his probable penalty will be for being in the 
Chevalier’s company. And she, poor, miserable thing, for 
whom he cooly put me aside, I shall, at least, have the 
satisfaction of knowing I have made her suffer.” 

With a weary step, for Emilio’s temper and the evil dispo- 
sitions of her heart had not been raised without her frame 
bearing evidence of the storm of passionate fury which had 
swept over soul, beneath the influence of which she could 
have crushed under foot every tie, however sacred, she now 
returned to the salon from which she had so long been 
absent. Her departure had attracted the attention of her 
own immediate family, also of Angelique. 

To all inquiries she had but one reply, and her pale face 
corroborated the apparent truthfulness of the assertion, 
that she was ill. 

“I felt very ill, and retired to my own room. I feel 
better now,” she added, and a flash of triumph lighted up 
her eye as she gazed around the room in search of Angelique 
and Lord Keith, whom she at length discerned seemingly 
wholly absorbed in each other. 

Jealousy and hatred again filled her heart. With the 
generality of impulsive and hasty dispositions, she had not 
the art of imposing a constraint upon her feelings, and sud- 
denly breaking from the little throng, including her niece 
and others, who expressed sorrow at her indisposition, she 
swept hastily on to the spot in which Lord Keith and 
Angelique were keeping up an animated conversation. 

A bright red spot glowed on her cheek, and it was with 
difficulty she commanded her voice, as she exclaimed ; 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


19 


“Why, my Lord Keith, are you turning traitor to your 
king, toying still with my child cousin, and forgetting your 
liege lord ? ” 

“ No, madam,” said Keith, with a low bow, “ I can pay 
my homage at the shrine of youth and beauty, and still be 
a faithful servant to my Prince.” 

“ Well, well, we will hope so,” said Emilie, still striving 
to keep up the tone of badinage with which she addressed 
him; “but remember, if any harm should befall King 
James during his journey, I for one can attest that the 
incomparable Lord Keith was exchanging honeyed words 
with girls fresh from the school-room, instead of helping his 
master with his advice.” 

As Emilie spoke these words, she glided hastily away, 
leaving the nobleman in a state of unenviable perplexity. 
Pleased with the naivete of Angelique, he had, it is true, 
fooled away in her company some two or three hours, when 
it would have better become him to have made one of the 
small council as'semblcd with the Prince in the Baron’s 
Cabinet; whilst Angelique, with the inconsiderate vanity 
and self-conceit of a very young girl, felt no small pleasure 
at the consciousness she possessed that she had made a con- 
quest of the English nobleman, and had caused mortifica- 
tion to her cousin. Fully alive though, at the same time, 
to the knowledge that Emilie had sufficient influence in her 
family to be the means of expelling herselt for the future, 
as she was merely a visitor at the house of the Baron. 

Lord Keith gazed for a moment after the retreating form 
of Emilie. Lost in thought, he knew not why, for the idea 
of treachery in the family of a de Breteul never for a 
moment entered his mind ; yet he felt annoyed and vexed 
with himself that he had allowed the serious business that 
had brought him thither that evening to be driven from his 


20 THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

mind by the fascination of a pair of bright eyes and a 
pretty face. 

Angelique too was disquieted. With the heedless conceit 
so common to her age, she was delighted at the thought 
that she possessed an influence over Lord Keith, and pleased 
to sec Emilie provoked. But the evident discomposure of 
the former awakened her fears, and she resolved to try and 
propitiate Emilie on the first opportunity. 

Suddenly Keith recovered himself, and saying : “I have, 
perhaps, tarried too long, so I bid you adieu, fair Angel- 
ique. I will to the king without further delay,” he hurried 
from the salon. 



OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


21 


CHAPTER III. 

TIIE ESPOUSALS. 

HE dawn of another day had clearly broken 
over the city of Paris ere the Chevalier had 
ended his long conference with the Baron 
and the few councillors who had attended 
him. From the hotel he repaired straightway to Chail- 
lot, whither he was anxiously expected by the queen- 
mother, and it was pre-arranged that when he should leave 
her twenty-four hours later one of the Baron’s own car- 
riages should be in waiting, with attendants, wearing the 
livery of the latter, to conduct him on his way to Chateau 
Thierry. 

The excitement, consequent on the arrival and departure 
of the Chevalier at an end, the next day was devoted to 
festive preparations for the marriage of the Baron’s daughter 
with the son of the Marshal and Lady St. John, which was 
to take place on the following morning at the church of 
Notre Dame, in presence of a large concourse of titled and 
influential personages, comprising many of the old noblesse, 
friends, or relations of the Baron de Brctcul, as also several 
of the Jacobite families still resident at St. Germains, and 
last, though not least, by that of the queen-mother, who 
for this day left her retirement at Chaillot to witness the 
espousals of the son of one whom she had loved so dearly 
as the Lady St. John. 

The bridal robe of Cecile de Brctuel was of cloth of 
silver, her veil of Brussels lace was bound with a bandeau 
of diamonds, intermixed with orange blossoms, and her 
train was borne by the young girls, the power of whose 
charms, combined with a degree of foolish pleasure, all 



22 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


giving rise to jealous emotions in the breast of Emilio, had 
caused, in its result, a deadly act of mischief. 

The bridegroom inherited the handsome features of his 
parents, but his handsome and well-formed head was dis- 
figured by the full-bottomed periwig of the period. He 
was attired in black velvet, handed with pearls and with 
rigolcttcs of the same. 

Then, in the splendid salons of the dc Brctucl palace, 
great festivities were held to celebrate the marriage, but 
under all the outward show of gaiety and pomp there was 
a feeling of anxiety on the part of the Baron and his friends 
as to the success of the Chevalior’s descent into Scotland, the 
plotting and mischievous Emilie being the only exception. 



OK, THE FOSTEK SISTERS. 


23 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE POST-HOUSE AT NOIWANCOURT. 

N a misty morning in November, 1715, the 
Chevalier dc St. George, after bidding a sor- 
rowful farewell to the queen-mother, started 
on his way to Chateau Thierry, his men, as I 
hove already said, wearing the Baron’s liveries. 

The last tic that bound the queen-mother to the world, 
he had parted from her with much sorrow and depression. 

A drizzling rain was falling, and it was scarce daybreak 
when he quitted Paris, but long ere he reached Norman- 
court it had ceased and given way to a fog or mist through 
which the Chevalier could but dimly discern the cottages of 
the peasantry as he emerged into the open country, little 
dreaming danger was so near, in spite of the caution which 
had accompanied his movements since he left Lorraine. 

Ho had gradually shaken off the depression attendant on 
the parting with his mother, and was cheerfully conversing 
with his companions when, to his unspeakable alarm, the 
vehicle suddenly stopped, and the next moment he'heard a 
female voice begging the driver not to proceed. 

His momentary fear was now changed to surprise as a 
woman of not unpleasing countenance, dressed in the garb 
of a well-to-do person of the humbler class, placing her foot 
on the step of the carriage, thus addressed him : “If it be 
true that you are the King of England, I warn you not to 
go to the post-house. You will be lost if you do, for sev- 
eral villains arc waiting there to murder you.”* 

The unfortunate Chevalier was gifted with great presence 
of mind, and without betraying the emotion he felt, he said : 



* Siriclil mV < Lives, <fcc. 


24 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“ Tell me your name, my good woman, as also how you 
became possessed of such information as this ? ’ 

“ My name is L’Hopital ; 1 am a single woman and the 
mistress of the post-house at Normancourt, which I beg you 
not to go near ; three Englishmen are still thero drinking,” 
she continued, “whoso conversation I have listened to; 
they aro arranging with some desperate characters living in 
this neighborhood as to how they mean to set upon and way- 
lay a traveler who was to change horses at Normancourt on 
his way to Chateau Thierry. If you are the King, are you 
not expected there on your way to England ? ” 

For a moment tho Chevalier faltered. Such words as 
those which fell from this honest woman’s lips were indeed 
enough to dismay tho stoutest heart, with tho knowledge 
previously that his fierce enemy, Lord Stair, had his spies 
abroad, and that the British Government had set a price of 
j£100,000 upon his head. 

Ilis hesitation lasted but a moment. The good woman’s 
manner was too earnest for him to doubt her. 

“ I am indeed he whom you seek,” he replied, regardless 
of the warning glances of Keith and his friend William 
Erskinc, both of whom lacked tho Chevalier’s reliance on 
the woman’s sincerity, “ and confiding in your truth, 1 will 
at once return to Paris.” 

“ Thore is no need to tako such a step,” she replied. “ 1 
have given tho villains such an abundance of wine and spir- 
itous liquors that they are thoroughly intoxicated ; then I 
locked them in tho room, satisfied that for the present they 
arc too drunk to do any harm, and then stole out to apprise 
you of the danger you are in, and if you feel that you can 
confide in my good intentions, I will at once take you to the 
house of our good Cure, where you will bo perfectly safe.” 
Lord Keith played nervously with the hilt of his sword 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


25 


as tlie good woman spoke. Ills apprehensions of two nights 
since were revived; again the words of Emilic, unmeaning 
but for the flash of her eye and the evident useless attempt 
to suppress her indignation at his foolish flirtation with her 
cousin, rushed to his remembrance, and he inwardly cursed 
the hour when, by his own imprudence, he felt he was per- 
haps the means of having drawn the Chevalier into danger. 
He had seen enough during his visit at the Hotel to know 
that the sister of its lord was a woman to be feared if 
offended. With the unsuspicious frankness of his race, the 
Chevalier at once said : 

“ My best thanks are due to you, my good woman. I 
and my attendants will follow wherever you may lead us ; ” 
and descending from the carriage, he accompanied the 
worthy woman down a lane and across a somewhat unfre- 
quented field, which led by a circuitous route to tho village 
church of Normancourt. 

It was an unpretending little building, and beside it stood 
the cottage of the Cure, a man well stricken in years, whose 
calm, placid countenance bespoke a well-spent life. Mon- 
sieur lc Cure was in fact the idol of his people, and one of 
the foremost amongst his parishioners in helping him in 
every good work he knew to be the honest woman who now 
entered the garden leading to his house, accompanied by 
two gentlemen. 

“ Monsieur lc Cure,” she said, dropping a curtsey as the 
venerable pastor came forward to meet her, “I bring you 
no less a person than the King of England, whom some 
persons arc lying in wait for at my house to waylay and 
murder.” 

The Cure’s calm countenance was at once lighted up with 
an expression of delight. 

“Ah, Monsieur le Prince, accept the hospitality of my 

3 


26 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


house, I pray you, till we can concert means to ensure your 
safety,” he said, leading the way to his own apartment, 
proud and happy to have it in his power to yield a shelter 
to the Chevalier, whom he immediately recognized as having 
met at Chaillot when on a visit to the queen-mother. Then, 
after lending an attentive car to his worthy friend Madame 
L’llopital, he advised her to proceed at once to the magis- 
trate, Monsieur D’Argenson, and beg of him to accompany 
her, with two or three gensd’armes, and take the men at 
the post-house into custody. 

Winter though it was, the worthy woman hastened with 
such speed to the abode of the magistrate that drops of per- 
spiration stood on her comely face, and she was so out of 
breath that it was some time before she could make known 
her errand. 

The magistrate, to whom she was well known, was even 
then hearing several cases,, but as she was a person of some 
importance in the village and universally respected, the man 
to whom she spoke took her at once to D’Argenson. 

It was with some difficulty, however, that he could be 
made to comprehend what was really the matter, so extreme 
was the agitation of the generally calm post-mistress; but 
when he at length thoroughly understood her errand, he 
rose hastily, dismissed the eases that were being tried till 
the following day, and summoning half a dozen well armed 
men, complimenting Madame meanwhile for her courage 
and discretion, he proceeded at once to the post-house. 

Her heart beating with joy at the success of her strata- 
gem, Madame took the key of the room out of her pocket. 
The three Englishmen whom she h'ad locked up were still 
sleeping off the effects of the liquor with which she had so 
well plied them ; the fourth of the party proved to be a 
baron well known to D’Argenson as a villainous spy in the 
employment of crafty Lord Stair. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


27 


With some little difficulty the Englishmen were aroused; 
at first they stared with a sort of half-tipsy defiant look at 
the gensd’armes; then, as they gradually recovered them- 
selves and were made to understand the charge Madame 
preferred against them, they produced Lord Stair’s pass- 
ports. 

He who was evidently the superior of the party proved to 
be Colonel Douglas, son of Sir William Douglas, an attache 
of the Embassy, who, with an air of great bravado, boldly 
confronted and attempted to prevent D’Argenson from the 
exercise of his duty. 

“ I will not be interfered with,” said he, assuming a men- 
acing attitude. “Understand, I and my companions are 
doing our duty. We arc all engaged in the service of the 
British Ambassador.” 

D’Argenson surveyed the doughty colonel with a look of 
unqualified contempt. 

“Put up your sword, sir,” said he. “You and your 
companions arc all my prisoners. No ambassador would 
dare to avow such villainous actions as that in which you 
have been engaged to-day. Officers,” he added, “ take 
these persons into custody. I commit them for trial.” 

Gnashing his teeth with rage, the little red-faced colonel, 
scarce yet quite sober, shook his fist in the direction of the 
inner room to which he imagined Madame had withdrawn, 
and inwardly cursed the folly which had led him, by indulg- 
ing too freely in the use of the bottle, to speak aloud of the 
business in which he was engaged. 

“Eleven o’clock,” he said to himself, as with a furious 
gesture he followed his companions under the escort of the 
gensd’armes. “Two hours since he must have arrived at 
Normancourt. One hundred thousand pounds at stake, and 
lost by a babbling tongue and a wine bottle.” 


28 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


Swelling with impotent rage, the whole party were after a 
time duly consigned to prison, after which the clear-headed 
magistrate penned a letter to Lord Stair, acquainting that 
discomfited personage with the event of the morning, and 
carefully avowing his belief that his Excellency was in no 
way aware of the attempt about to be made on the persons 
of undefended travelers. 

Meanwhilo Madame had hastened to dispatch one of her 
couriers to Chateau Thierry with a true statement of what 
had occurred ; then, having provided herself with a dress 
which she procured from a friend in the village, she hastened 
to the house of the Cure. 

The calm countenance of the Chevalier betrayed no trace 
of the feelings w'hicli were working within his soul. Ilis 
first act was one of thanksgiving to God for his miraculous 
escape ; his next a return of heartfelt thanks to the worthy 
soul to whom, under God, he owed his preservation. 

Panting and breathless, Madame had thrown herself on 
the chair the Cure had placed for her, and pressing one hand 
on her heart she produced with the other from beneath the 
folds of her large cloak the disguise she had brought with 
her for the Chevalier. 

“ The villains are all in prison, Monsieur lc Cure,” she 
said, “and I have here a dress for the King, should lie like 
another disguise. Ilark ! let him lose no time. There arc 
the wheels of one of my own voiturcs; a fresh relay of 
horses will be ready for him when lie is some way on his 
journey.” 

As the good woman spoke, a smart-looking voiturc rum- 
bled up to the garden gate, and the Chevalier, who, not 
having been seen by any one leaving, thought it a loss of 
time to alter his present disguise, would have again paused 
to reiterate his thanks to his preserver and the good Cure, 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


29 


but the latter urged his departure, bidding him remember 
that danger might yet lurk in his path, and recommending 
himself warmly to the prayers of his whilom venerable 
friend, the persecuted, proscribed heir of three kingdoms 
entered Madame’s voiture, accompanied by his two attend- 
ants, and reaching Nantes in safety, found a vessel in readi- 
ness to convey him to St. Malo. 

Meanwhile Lord Stair’s indignation knew no bounds at 
the failure of his villainous scheme, which he attributed 
solely to the strong drinks of which he found Colonel Doug- 
las and his men had taken such large potations. 

D'Argcnson, partly in a spirit of mischief, had exposed 
both them and the villainous La Motte, and was eloquent in 
praise of the excellent Madame L’Hopital, whose energy 
and discretion, he said, had alone averted a dreadful catas- 
trophe. 

“ My evil stars are against me,” said the Earl to Sir 
William Douglas, to whom he had narrated, as clearly as his 
gust of passion would allow, the failure of the undertaking 
of his son. “The Regent plays us false; for when I 
demanded, in the name of King George, that the Pretender 
should not be allowed to pass through France, he replied 
‘ he would have him taken back to Lorraine, if I could tell 
him where he was, but that he was not to be obliged to be 
spy or gaoler for King George.’ Then lie sent for the 
Major of the Guard, and before my face told him to inter- 
cept the Pretender on the road. The fellow gave me a 
long account of his zeal in my service, but at heart I believe 
him to be not well pleased with his office, and that the Regent 
himself has no real desire to detain the Pretender. Every 
effort of those I have employed has proved ineffectual to 
track out his whereabouts. And when at last a lady in the 
enemy’s own camp tells me whero he may be found, I am 
3 * 


30 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN 


balked of my prey by such an egregious misadventure as 
this.” 

The suspicion of Lord Stair that the Regent was well dis- 
posed to facilitate the escape of the Chevalier was quite cor- 
rect. The latter gladdened the honest heart of Madame 
LTIopital by sending her a little later his own portrait as a 
testimonial for her services, but political reasons prevented 
him from publishing the depositions of the post-mistress and 
her servants. 



OR, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS* 


31 


CHAPTER V. 

TURNED ADRIFT. 

UIR bairn ! puir bairn !” said a woman to her- 
self, as she threaded with weary steps the high 
street of Edinburgh, “ wha sail I do wi ye if 
the old carle will not see your winsome face? ’ 
Then, suddenly pausing before the door of a largo house, 
she rang the bell with a trembling hand, and pulling her 
cloak on one side, pressed her lips on the brow of a baby 
a few months old, which lay nestled in her bosom. 

The summons was answered by a maid, who started with 
surprise at what she imagined must be the wraith of Jessy 
McLaren, whose pale face was just distinguishable from 
beneath her hood. 

“ Eh ! lack a day, Effic ! lack a day ! here’s a change o’ 
markets. I hac come frac my ain mountain hamc, and must 
see the gudeman at once.” 

“ And wha’s bairn is that, Jessy?” said the girl, still 
holding the door in her hand, as if uncertain whether to 
give admission or not. 

“Eh, lack a day ! it is puir Miss Margaret’s bairn. She 
fell unco sick, Effie, and whin sh) waur about to die, wi 
mony tears in her bonny blue e’en, she begged me sair to 
carry her wee bairn to Auld Reekie.” 

“ Ilis honor winna care to see the puir bit lassie,” was 
the reply. “ I dare na tak ye to him, Jessy.” 

“ Then I’ll gang to him by mysell, lassie. Ilout na! 1 
ken his biding place,” and somewhat wrathfully poor Jessy 
pulled up the folds of her old grey cloak and hurried through 
the hall to the room in which she knew her old master gen- 
erally sat. 



32 


^HE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


Her timorous knock at the door was answered by a gruff 
“Come in,” and with her heart beating wildly, the old 
woman gently opened tho door and entered the room. 

Coming as she did out of the mist and darkness of a win- 
ter evening, the strong light of several wax candles which 
burned upon the table for a moment dazzled her eyes, whilst 
the warmth of the room turned the cold and weary woman 
faint. She speedily recovered, however, and without notic- 
ing the exclamation of surprise at the unwarrantable intru- 
sion of an old beggar woman, for such at the first glance 
Graham and his wife believed her to be, she walked quickly 
up to the former, and without any preamble, she pulled 
aside the plaid which covered the face of the sleeping infant. 

“I hac brought a puir bit lassie to your honor,” said 
Jessy, with a low curtsey. “ The wee thing is the bairn o’ 
your ain chicld, bonny Miss Margaret that was. Ilech, 
sir — ” 

“Woman, what brings you here? Begone, and take 
back the chield to its mither.” 

“To its mither did your honor say? Alack! sir, the 
puir bairn hac nac mither. I hac brought it frao my moun- 
tain hame. Whisht! whisht!” she said, trying to soothe 
the infant, who, awaking, began to make itself heard. 
“ ‘ Tak her to my father, Jessy, when I am dead,’ said the 
winsome young leddy, ‘ and ask him to be kind to my 
child,’ and sac as soon as I had strcckit her out and laid her 
in her grave I lift my ain bit cottage for Auld Reekie to 
bring your honor the bairn.” 

“Gang awa, woman. I hae nothing to do with the 
bairn o’ Robert Lindsey and my fausc chicld ; ” and David 
Graham turned with aversion from the unconscious infant. 

“ Hcch, sir, you hae mucklc siller and gowd ; winna you 
help the puir bairn ? ” 


0E ; THE FOSTER SISTERS. 33 

“ Woman !” roared tlie furious man, “ gang awa frae my 
sight.” 

“ Whisht, my bairn, and dinna let me murmur at my 
cross. I’ll shake the dust frae your door staines off my feet, 
David Graham, and lang and sair and dree’d penance will 
ye do for the sin o’ this nicht. ’Tis a fearsome thing, mon, 
to drive out a puir auld body and a wee bairn, a chicld o’ 
your ain anc might a’most say, on sic a nicht.” 

As Jessy uttered these words she pressed the child to her 
bosom and hurried from the room. As she strode through 
the hall with the dignity of a queen, Effic, whose ear had 
been applied to the keyhole of the parlor door, caught her 
by the arm and whispered — 

Jessy, gudewife, tell me where arc ye ganging?” 

“ I canna say, Effie. The winsome bairn maun be cared 
for, and the wicked auld carle will hae nane o’ her. I maun 
bide in Auld Reekie the nicht, and i’ the morrow’s dawn I 
maun flit on my way to bonny Dundee. The bairn’s father's 
aunt forbyc may help me wi the child.” 

“ Here is siller for you, Jessy, for sake o’ auld lang 
syne, and do you go to the neighboring Close, off the Canon- 
gate, you ken where my sister the hosier’s wife lives ; say to 
her: ‘ Effic Craig will be unco glad if you will gic an auld 
cummer a bed and a mouth fu o’ food the nicht.’ ” 

“ The thanks o’ a puir body be wi you, lassie ; and if 
over ye c©mc so far north, dinna forget thy auld kimmer 
Jessy bide among the Highlands o’ Perthshire.” 


34 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER VI. 



THE IIUT IN THE GLEN. 

[IIE short winter afternoon was wearing away. 
Though the day had been bright and clear, 
the weather was severely cold, and the dull 
* sough of the wind as it swept in hollow gusts 
over the uplands seemed to sing a requiem over the 
blighted hopes of the Highlanders, who, after taking a sor- 
rowful leave of their friends in Perth, crossed the frozen 
waters of the Tay and continued their march to Montrose. * 
It was the day before the flight of the unfortunate Chev- 
alier from that ancient land he had so much wished to 
behold. The battle of Sheriffmuir had been fought, his 
army had been defeated and surrendered at Preston, and 
news had arrived that the Duke of Argyll was in full march 
to give them battle. That dull torpor which is the result 
of disappointed hopes had fallen on the small band of ardent 
and enthusiastic men who had raised the standard of the 
Chevalier, and who, in proportion as the chances of success 
seemed more fearfully against them, their number being 
small as well as undisciplined, thirsted to be led once more 
against the enemy. But the defeat at Preston, and the long 
list of executions which were sure to follow, and which 
brought to the block, or to banishment, or poverty, many a 
noble victim in the year 1517, had taught a lesson of pru- 
dence to those who were the leaders, and now, in the quiet 
evening hour, with the clear, cold rays of the moon lighting 
up the purple mountains in the distance, four gentlemen, 
attended by one faithful servant walking a little in the rear, 


* Jefer’s History of the Pretenders. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


35 


have wandered, and are holding secret converse as to future 
plans and safety for the time being. 

Foremost of the group is the Chevalier himself. His 
usually pale countenance may this night vie with the sickly 
pallor of the moon above his head. His eyes are clear, dark, 
and penetrating, and his tall figure a little bent as he inclines 
forward to catch more clearly the words that fall from the 
lips of his faithful friend, Marshal St. John, who walks by 
his right side. 

The Marshal is now a middle-aged man, erect as a dart, 
his hair just a little gray, his eye as bright as when in his 
youthful days he wooed the Lady Florence. On his person 
lie bears many a scar, and his left arm is even now in a 
sling from a gunshot wound at Shcriffmuir. 

Beside the Marshal walks a young man but newly wedded, 
whom I introduced to you at the Hotel de Bretuel, and his 
girl-wife is passing the early days of her wedded life in the 
old chateau at St. Germains. 

Lord Mar makes up the fourth of the party, the noble- 
man who had led the Prince’s troops at the battle of Sheriff- 
muir, and who had the good fortune to succeed in making 
good his retreat to France, and by so doing saving his head. 

“ Let me entreat your Highness to embark in the French 
vessel which is now lying in the harbor. What if your 
enemies seize upon your person ? ” 

“I cannot think of such a step,” was the reply. “I 
will not accede to such a proposal.” 

“Allow me to explain,” said Lord Mar; “that if you 
insist on remaining amongst the remnant of your troops 
their danger will be increased tenfold, as also your own.” 
“At present the men can retreat amongst the mountains,” 
observed St. John, “and their own safety will thus be 
secured; but if his Highness be with them, the loyalty and 


36 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


affection of his devoted followers, and their anxiety to ensure 
his safety, will assuredly prevent them from being careful 
of themselves.” 

Then there was a few moments silence ; it was broken by 
the Chevalier himself, who said in a voice tremulous from 
emotion : 

“And these, gentlemen, arc really the conscientious opin- 
ions you have formed. My fate is in your hands, be it so, 

I shall feel much my return to France with another enter- 
prise unsuccessful. But you, my brave friends, would never 
counsel an ignominious flight, and it shall never be told to 
posterity that James the Third staid amidst his loyal and 
devoted people to become their ruin.” 

“We have counselled your Highness to the best of our 
power,” said the Earl of Mar and St. John both in the 
same breath, and as the latter turned towards the Prince to 
make an observation regarding the needful preparations for 
the meditated flight, he saw his eyes raised to heaven, and 
beheld a large tear fall down his check. 

Unwilling to disturb his sorrowful meditations, he was 
walking on, when the wailing cry of an infant struck upon 
their ears. 

“Whist, ycr honor,” said our old friend Denis of yore, 
the faithful servant of the brave Sarsfield, and who on his 
master’s death had transferred his allegiance to that master’s 
bosom friend and brother-in -arms, St. John. 

“Arrah, thin, where’s the wee thing? Shure and its 
mesilf that must sec after the craythur.” 

A little to the right of the road they were traversing, the 
bright rays of the moon revealed a miserable hut, and from 
thence the wail of the infant had evidently proceeded ; it 
was now followed by a dismal moan. 

“ Ochone, my darlint, hould the noise till I sec what I 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


37 


can Jo fcr yez,” said honest Denis, as leaving the gentle- 
men he made for the hut in question. The door, if such it 
could be called, for it was shorn of any support in the shape 
of a hinge, and partially rested against the wall, was open 
sufficiently to give admission to Denis, and a bit of candle 
stuck in a piece of clay revealed the horrors of the scene. 
On a bench beside a few decaying embers, which, as there 
was no vent beyond the partially open door, had filled the 
hut with smoke, sat huddled up, body and knees together, 
an aged woman on a few rushes. On the earthen floor was 
the child whose cries had attracted the attention of Denis, 
with the extended form of an evidently dying woman. 

“The Blessed Virgin and the Holy Saints protect us, 
what have yez there, a craythur living or dead?” 

“ Ilout mon, I ken naething,” was the reply. “ She came 
here the morn, and had ganged a’ the way frac Auld Reekie. 
She hac grat a’ the day about the bairn, and wha can / do, 
sac auld and sair pinched wi’ want mysel ? ” 

Denis said not a word, but went out to his master. 

“ Arrah, thin, shurc if a man’s heart is not made intircly 
of stone, yonder is a sight to break it quite, ycr honor. An 
ould woman, a wee bit of a babe, and anither woman, wid 
the breath going clane out of her. Will ycr honor spare me 
while I give her a sup of the rale craythur I have in my 
pouch ; it may bring her to her sinscs ?” 

“ By all means return, my good Denis, and give her all 
the help in your power,” said the Marshal, “ and in the 
morning you shall take them some money and remove the 
poor creatures from that dismal habitation.” 

“ If yer honor would but jist step this way and see wid 
yer own eyes,” said Denis, with a low bow, “and thin I 
will be afther following you as soon as I have given them a 
drop of comfort.” 

4 


38 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


Denis then made his way hack to the hut, and the Cheva- 
lier and his companions stepped forward, and looking 
through the partially open door beheld a scene of misery 
and unspeakable desolation. 

“AVe can leave the poor creatures in no better hands than 
those of my faithful Denis,” said St. John, turning from the 
scene of suffering after a moment’s survey. “ 1 rejoice that 
the good fellow was with us,” he added, as the party retraced 
their steps to their lodgings. 

We will remain awhile with Denis. 

“ Dhrink a drap, my poor craythur ; shurc now if ycz will 
only believe in me, and I’m not the boy to desave you, 
only a wee sup will do you good.” 

But the cold hand of the dying woman faintly motioned 
away the flask which the honest and well-intentioned Denis 
would have placed to her lips, and theu she lay perfectly 
still and motionless. 

For awhile there was no sound save the wail of the infant, 
the low muttering of the old crone crouched on the hearth- 
stone, and the sighing of the wind as it swept down the des- 
olate glen. 

Denis was a brave soldier, but he averred afterwards that 
his flesh crept as the hours passed wearily by. All the old 
stories he had heard in his boyhood thronged thick upon 
him, and he was quite prepared to hear the wail of the Ban- 
shee or to sec some of the “ good people ”* peeping in at the 
door of the ruined hut. 

At last the dying woman moved and uttered a deep sigh, 
and Denis poured a little whiskey into the palm of his hand 
and wetted her lips, after a vain endeavor to force the flask 
between her teeth. 


* Fairies. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


39 


“ Gie it till me, mon,” exclaimed the old woman in the 
corner, “deil knows it canna save sic a body as that, but 
it’ll do muckle good to me.” 

It was almost a relief to Denis to hear a human voice, and 
handing his flask to the woman he bade her drink, and 
nothing loth would she have been to empty it of its contents, 
for she only removed it from her lips on his exclaiming — 

“ Arrah, thin, hould a bit, lave some for the poor cray- 
thur ; she may drink a wee sup yet.” 

At last a low faint whisper fell from her lips. The good 
man bent down his head to listen. 

“ The bairn,” was all he could distinguish. 

“ Thrue fer yez, the wee thing must not be left alone 
intirely. Denis is not the man to let it starve. Be it a boy 
or a pretty colleen ?” 

“A girl.” 

“ Arrah, thin, more’s the pity. If it was a boy I’d rear it 
to fight for King James, but as it is a colleen, well, thin, 
shurc she shall be a daughter to me, and I’ll stand by her 
intirely. So die in pace and His holy Mother be wid yez.” 
“ Margaret Lindsay — a — a cavalier — her father.” 

Then there was silence in the hut, save for the gasping 
breath which told the end was at hand. 

“ The poor craythur, what will I do for her ? ” burst forth 
from the lips of honest Denis. 

“ Ye maun e’en let her dec. I mind me ance when my 
gudemon died, six years sync Martinmas,” responded the 
old woman. “Siccan a fright as I got for twal hours, and 
then he waur ca’ed liamc at last, and a suir weird I hae 
dree’d broken down wi age and heart-break.” 

“Shurc and I’ll bring yez help from his honor. But, 
whisht now, the life’s goin out o’ the poor sowl anyhow.” 
Poor Jessy, for she it indeed was, made an effort to raise 


40 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


her hand. The rustic of paper struck on the ear of Denis, 
and putting his hand across her bed of rushes, he per- 
ceived a folded paper, crumpled and worn, which the dying 
woman evidently wished him to have in his keeping. 

“I’ll give it to his honor, misthress, and die in pace, 
because your wee bit of a colleen shall niver be forsaken. 
I wish though you could make me aisy and say its not dyin 
o’ hunger ycz arc.” 

“ No, good man — no — ganging awa wi the bairn — to a 
freend in Montrose — fell sick — God — have mercy — ” 

“ Ah, shure, I sec it all intircly. You fell ill on the 
road, and thin, the Lord presarve us, its here ycz come to 
die.” 

And the babe had whined itself to sleep in its cold and 
its hunger, and the withered old crone, still crouching over 
the smouldering peat, had sunk into a restless sleep, and 
poor Denis shivered with cold and trembled with the awful- 
ncss of the solitude; the dark, lone glen without — within, 
the woman writhing in the agonies of death. 

“Its a purty position, to be shure,” said lie to himself. 
“ But faix and I’ll be aftlicr say in my beads, for the poor 
sowl is in her agony.” And closing his eyes, to shut out if 
possible the ghastly sight, none the less vividly present how- 
ever to his mental vision, lie recited the Rosary with all due 
fervor. 

Suddenly the long, loud gasp ceased. The spirit of poor, 
faithful Jessy had passed away. 

“Now, Denis, my boy, what will ycz do? I say the 
best thing intircly is to get out of this place, and take the 
wee thing wid ycz. Thin, later, ye’ll be able to take it 
aisy and maybe give a daccnt burial to the poor sowl, God 
rest her. So good night, or rather good mornin to ycz, 
mother,” he added, apostrophizing the sleeping woman, “ I 
lave ycz in very quiet company.” 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


41 


Then, tenderly as a woman, he raised the baby in his 
strong arms, and with a fervent “the Holy Virgin be 
praised,” he passed swiftly out into the gloom and darkness 
of the night, or rather morning, for it was nearly four 
o’clock before he reached his master’s. He was sore dis- 
tressed, however, as to what to do with the unfortunate little 
waif of which he had become so strangely possessed, for the 
child began to set up a piteous shriek before he arrived at 
the place of his destination. 

“ Arrah, thin, what will I do wid ycz ? Its afther wakin 
up his honor ye’ll ; and I cannot get ycz a wee sup of milk 
till six o’clock ; its a rale pity.” 

Fortunately, however, for Denis, the child again whined 
itself to sleep, and resting it gently on one arm whilst he 
admitted himself with a pass-key, lie stepped quietly up 
stairs and most valiantly discharged his new duties of nurse 
until the Marshal’s bell summoned him as usual at seven in 
the morning. 

“ Shurc and there’s nothin to be done but to take ycz 
along wid me,” said lie, rising with his sleeping burthen. 
“ Ye'll be a purty colleen, but how I’ll get ycz to France is 
a question I can’t answer intircly. Faix, his honor must 
settle that.” 

Denis presented himself then in his master’s chamber, 
bearing what at first sight appeared to be a bundle in his 
arms; but, ere lie reached the bedside, a loud squall from 
the hapless little waif made known that it was a small speci- 
men of babyhood, in the full possession of very good lungs, 
which he had brought with him into the room. 

“Why, Denis,” exclaimed the Marshal, in no small sur- 
prise, “ what in the name of fortune have you brought a 
child here for? Are you out of your senses, man?” 

“ Plasc ycr honor, I’ve got a wee colleen here which I 
4* 


42 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


mane to be a father to, if ycr honor has no objections. I 
thought the wits would clanc lave me afther ye wint away 
last night. The poor sowl niver died till nearly four this 
mornin, and I tould her I would take care of her child. ” 

“ My good fellow,” said the Marshal, rising, “ your feel- 
ings do you credit, but you know, Denis, you cannot take 
care of it. What’s to be done?” 

“ Ah, what’s to be done? Shurc and its ycr honor must 
be afther answerin that question ycrsclf. Denis is not the 
boy that can do it. But she’s a swatc purty thing, isn’t 
she, yer honor? ” And here Denis gently opened the plaid 
in which the babe was swathed, and displayed its well-formed 
limbs and sweet face. “When she’s awake, yer honor,” ho 
added, “she has eyes as black as a coal and as bright as a 
sunbeam. She’s as pretty a girlccn as ever lived, at all, 
at all.” 

“She is indeed a beautiful child, Denis. But this is a 
serious business, my man. Situated as we arc, we must 
think what had best be done with the child.” 

“ I must take her to Franco, yer honor; that is, suppos- 
ing ycz arc agreeable. And a thought strikes me,” con- 
tinued Denis. “ The child of Mrs. Fitzgerald, the wife of 
the captain who ycr honor knows was shot at Preston, is 
be in nursed by Widow Regan. Whisht, thin. Wouldn’t 
it be a rale good thing intircly to give her two babies to 
fade from her breast and niver say anither word about it? 
There’s a power of things harder to do than for a pretty 
colleen like Widow Regan to give suck to two babies at 
once, and Denis O’Sullivan’s the boy that will make the 
matter straight and clane intircly.” 

But the Marshal made no reply. lie was counting in 
his own mind the great difficulties attendant on conveying 
two tender infants to France in the same vessel in which the 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


43 


Prince was to sail that night, over and above the serious 
increase of work to Mrs. Regan, who had been engaged by 
himself solely to nurse the baby of the widow of a brother 
officer who died in giving it birth, and which the good Mar- 
shal had resolved to adopt in place of the daughter whom 
death had reft from her parents in early youth. 

This he had considered a most hazardous undertaking 
on account of the tremendous difficulties attendant on their 
journey to France ; but the request of honest Denis, which 
lie was unwilling to refuse and yet felt it imprudent to 
grant, made the attempt yet more troublesome. 

Suddenly the infant opened its large, dark eyes, and held 
out its tiny hands towards the Marshal, as though to second 
her rough, honest-hearted protector’s request. 

“ You will find it a very difficult task to accomodate Mrs. 
Regan to your ideas, Denis. I expect she will give you a 
flat refusal. However, you have gained your point, as far 
as I am concerned. I will not take it on myself to cast 
that innocent helpless child on the charity of others.” 

“ Thin may the heavens be ycr honor’s bed. Shurc and 
its the happy boy that I am. But, yer honor, I have a 
secret very heavy at my heart, and I can niver rest till I let 
it out.” 

“ Be quick, my good fellow. I will hear your secret 
whilst I dress. You must, however, dispose of that bantling 
at once. You cannot act as my valet with a child in your 
arms, and you will expose me to the ridicule of the whole 
household should it chance to cry.” 

“ Whist, thin, its about Mrs. R,egan I want to speak. 
Saving whin I am in attendance on ycr honor I lead an 

awful lonesome life, and I — I ” 

“Well, out with it at once, Denis,” said the Marshal, 
who began to entertain a glimmering idea as to why his man 


44 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


was beating about the bush, as soon as he spoke of the lone- 
liness of his life. 

“Will, thin, Marshal, if Mrs. Regan, the purty colleen, 
thought it convanient, entirely convanicnt, a dale of comfort 
would come to me if she would consint to let the priest make 
us two one, in holy wedlock.” 

“ Are you crazed, Denis? Why, Mrs. Regan is not yet 
twenty-five years old and you arc on the shady side of fifty.” 

“ And a dale better fer her, Marshal, that I should be so 
ould. The blessed St. Paul says that the husband is the 
head of the wife. Thin is’nt it the natc and proper thing 
entirely for him to be ouldcr than the wakcr party ; and 
arrah, Marshal dear, is’nt it Denis that’s the proper boy for 
a colleen. It’s tall and well made that I am; barrin my 
age, what’s amiss in me?” and lie surveyed himself with 
evident complacency as he spoke. 

“Has Mrs. Regan ever given you reason for supposing 
she will accept you, Denis ?” 

“ Och no, thin, it wanted a power of thought before I 
could consint to put the question. So, wi’ yer honor’s lave, 
I’ll go now and ask her to be Mrs. O’Sullivan, and as soon 
as she says, * Yes, I will, Denis,’ thin I shall tell her she 
must suckle this wee thing, for Denis is the boy that’ll not 
be afther asking a favor, whin he knows he has a rale ri^lit 
to command.” 

“You arc a monster of conceit, Denis. However, get 
back as soon as possible, and try and remember while you 
arc making love, that I am waiting for my valet; mind, if 
you arc absent more than a quarter of an hour I shall send 
for you.” 

Denis hurried out of the room with his burthen, which 
sent up a pitiful cry before he reached the bottom of the 


45 


OR, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 

staircase ; and the Marshal remained in bed amusing himself 
at the fellow’s ideas on the subject of marital authority, and 
wondered if the pretty widow of the late Sergeant would con- 
sent to take his man for better or for worse, or bide her time 
for a more eligible offer. 


46 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER VII. 

DENIS MAKES PROPOSALS TO T1IE WIDOW REGAN. 

OME little distance from the residence in which 
the Marshal and Lord Mar resided, apartments 
had been engaged for the widow, and thither 
honest Denis bent his steps, the little waif who 
had so unexpectedly fallen in his way crying lustily in his 
arms. 

"Widow Regan was a pretty little woman, with a clear 
skin, a pair of flashing black eyes, and hair of the same 
color, which was neatly gathered together in a snood or net. 
Her dress was clean and simple, but coquettishly arranged, 
and she sat alone at her little breakfast table, on which was 
spread porridge, milk and bannocks, pouring out a cup of 
warm milk with one hand, whilst with the disengaged arm 
she held the orphan child to her breast. 

“Why, Mr. Dennis, man, how you startle a body; and 
holy St. Bridget, why, if it is’nt a baby lie’s got in his arms. 
Arrah, thin, bring it to me to kiss; sure, and I love babies. 
Sorra’s the day my own child died, though I ouglit’nt to say 
so, for it’s in heaven it is.” 

“ Och, thin, mavourncen, cast the light of your bright 
black eyes on my girleen, and tell me if this one is’nt pret- 
tier a dale than the wee thing the Marshal gave you to 
suckle.” 

Nay, thin, Mr. Denis, I shall not go far to say that same,” 
and the pretty widow laid the little Margaret on her lap 
beside the other chiid, adding, “but I do myself think 
black eyes the prettier by a dale ; the wee thing is smart 
enough, shure.” 




OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


47 


“All, mavournccn, and yc have the sparkling black 
eye yourself that dales death and distruction to a poor boy’s 
heart. The wee thing is widout food; give it the suck, 
darlint, and let me dandle t’other fer you a bit. Jist plasc 
a boy, honey, and do as he asks you.” 

Scarce knowing why she complied with his request, Mrs. • 
Regan took the famished little waif in her arms. It at once 
nestled itself in her arms as if it was its own natural and 
proper place, and drew forth right heartily the nourishment 
nature destines for infants, though hitherto its little exist- 
ence had been chiefly derived from goat’s milk. 

“Well, thin, ralely, Mr. Denis, but the wee thing is 
pretty, and where on airth did you meet wid her; whoso 
girlccn is it? ” 

These questions followed rapidly one on the other ere 
Denis could reply. 

“ Well, thin, honey, the truth of the matter is, I found 
the baby in a bit hut in a glen. The ould sowl who had 
care of her was dyin fast, and that makes me remimber, 
darlint, I must look till her burial. I fetched away the 
girleen, and his honor has given me lave to bring up the 
wee Maggie. Your own name, darlint, is’nt it the thruth ? ” 

“ ltalely, Mr. Denis, I must beg you not to darlint me 
so often. It is not the daccnt thing at all, at all; and my 
dear boy, the Sergeant, not been a year cowld in his grave.” 
“Be angry wid yourself thin, the beauty that ye arc. 
I—” 

“ Well, what on airth can you do wid a baby, Mr. Denis ? 
Yez has no wife to look afther it at all, at all.” 

“Whisht, mavournccn; that’s just the thing I came to 
consult ye about. I want a rale purty colleen like yersclf, 
Mrs. Regan, to marry me, if yez know any sich about here. 

I would say, * My darlint, will yc take me for better, for 


48 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN J 


worse,’ and, Mrs. Regan, she should have her lines in her 
pocket afore the blessed sun sets to-night.” 

“Ah, Mr. Denis, it’s the droll boy ye arc. I know a 
power o’ purty girls in ould Ireland, but niver a one in this 
place, aud that’s the thruth of it.” 

“ Och, but you do though, Mrs. Ilcgan, and by this 
token, my darlint, it is yer own sweet self I mane. Say 
the word, mavournccn, am I too ould or too ugly? If not, 
I’ve a purty bit o’ money to the fore, good wages, and a 
kind master, and barrin I’m a bit hot at times, I beg lave to 
say I’m the boy who would make a good husband to the 
Widow Regan. So make me happy, darlint, and say yes.” 
“ Oh, yes, Mr. Denis, sartainly,” said the blushing 
widow. “I’m sure you have so surprised me. And the 
wee thing, will I be aftlicr suckling it as well as t'other?” 
“ Yes, yes, plasc, my own darlint. Och, but it is the 
happy boy I am,” said Denis, capering with delight. “But 
now I must go to his honor, and thin to bury the poor 
woman, God rest her sowl ; thin afthcr that I’ll come back 
to yer, aud if we cannot get a priest in this haythenish 
place, we must be afther gettin the lines as soon as we arc 
in France, and its the happiest couple we’ll be in the big, 
wide world, alanna, and — ” 

A loud knock at the door interrupted the overjoyed Denis. 
It was a boy with a message from the Marshal. 

“Yer honor must ralely forgive me,” lie said, when lie 
reached his master’s room, “ the purty widow has said she 
will marry me, and it’s the happiest boy in life I am.” 

“ And has she agreed to nurse the baby ?” 

“ She took to the wee girlecn as if it was the rale proper 
thing for her to do. It’s the obadiant good wife she’ll be 
afther makin. But, yer honor, I forgot to ask ycz kindly 
to radc those bit lines that dyin sowl gave me ; and sure as 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


49 


it’s the duty of a good Christian to bury the dead, I must 
go and put her in a bit of a grave before the mornin is over.” 
“Thank God, Denis, that we turned our steps in that 
direction last night,” said the Marshal, as he perused the 
words written on the torn and crumpled sheet of paper. 
“The poor child’s father was a promising young officer 
well known to Lord Mar. She shall be reared with tho 
child I have already adopted, and I will amply remunerate 
your wife that is to be for nursing her.” 

A blank look of disappointment spread itself over tho face 
of honest Denis. Poor fellow, with all the generous 
impulse of a true Hibernian heart, he had intended to rear 
the little waif himself. Tho Marshal observed the cloud 
pass over his face, and said : 

“ Why, Denis, do you feel sorry to give the child into 
the keeping of Lady St. John. Itemember, my good fel- 
low, your wife may have a family of her own, and, if so, 
may well spare the child of others ; besides, its father was 
under Lord Mar, and” — 

“ Arrah, ycr honor, what you plase to say is the truth 
entirely, and I would be afthcr doin the purty girlecn an 
injury to keep her in my humble home.” 

“Well, then, Denis,” replied the Marshal, placing ten 
sovereigns in his man’s hand, ‘ * you will give this to Mrs. 
llegan as a small present from myself, and I advise you not 
to think of marrying till your return to St. Germains. You 
have to go to the hut and get somo one to bury the old 
nurse ; it will be late in the afternoon before you can get 
back, and in the evening, well” — and here the Marshal 
paused, as if not knowing how to proceed; then he added, 
“ I may require your attendance on myself.” 

Denis was profuse in his thanks for the present to his 
intended bride, and the Marshal having supplied him with 
5 


50 


TIIE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


abundant means to defray the expenses of the interment of 
the dead woman, as well as a present for the wretched inmate 
of the hut, he set off on his errand ; nor did he make his 
appearance again till the afternoon had somewhat advanced, 
thus verifying the truth of the Marshal’s words, that he 
could not bury the dead and marry a wife on one and the 
same day. 

When the faithful servant returned to the Marshal's 
apartments, he found him closeted with the Earl of Mar. 
After awhile, on the departure of that nobleman, ho was 
admitted. 

“ You are a trusty man, Denis,” said the Marshal. ** I 
shall have much work for you to do before the night is over ; 
do not fail to be with me at six o’clock.” 



OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


51 


CHAPTER VIII. 

OVER TO FRANCE. 

RUE to a moment, at the hour the Marshal had 
appointed, Denis was in attendance. 

“ The clans march at eight o’clock for Aber- 
deen, Denis,” said his master; “but, before 
that hour, you will be in readiness to follow the king by 
a back way to the waterside. He will be accompanied by 
Lord Mar. A boat will be in readiness to convey him on 
board a small vessel.” 

“And the king’s baggage, your honor?” 

“It has been sent forward with the main body of the 
army, in order not to excite suspicion. For this reason, 
sentries are as usual placed at the door of his lodgings. 
Several gentlemen of his household will follow later, joining 
him in the same vessel. But we have unfortunately two 
poor infants to look after. Rather awkward baggage,” he 
muttered to himself. “ So you must at once hurry to Mrs. 
Regan and bid her go with you to the vessel directly ; sec 
her and her charge safely stowed away, and then hasten 
back ; time wears away ; two hours hence the king must be 
on his way to the boat.” 

Denis bowed in true military fashion, and hastened to 
Mrs. Regan. 

“ Its sorry I am, darlint, that you cannot have your lines 
till we get out of this place ; but barrin that, ’tis a lucky 
colleen yez are, for shure his honor has sint yez ten gould 
guineas for a weddin presint, and its married we’re to be as 
soon as we get over to France.” 

“Ten guineas 1” ejaculated Widow Regan, gazing with 




52 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


no small satisfaction at the glittering coin which Denis 
counted piece by piece into her outstretched hand. 

“And now, my darlint,” he added, “no time must be 
lost, the masther says, for its this very night yerself and the 
wee things must go wid me to the vessel.” 

The Marshal’s handsome gift had much to do in soothing 
Mrs. Itegan’s feelings under the disappointment she felt at 
not having become the wife of Denis that very day, and 
with his help, for he was as handy as any woman, the two 
babies, which had so strangely fallen in the way of the good 
Marshal, were snugly wrapped in warm plaids and carried 
in tho arms of the valet and his intended bride to the boat, 
which speedily conveyed the nurse and her charge to the 
vessel. 

The Marshal remained closeted with the Chevalier during 
the two hours which preceded that flight from his native 
country. The proposition of which he had so indignantly 
rejected when first suggested to him, and which he had only 
acceded to later because his best friends and advisers had 
urged upon him that by so doing he best consulted not only 
his ow r n personal safety but that of his numerous followers. 

Pale and dejected, the unfortunate Prince was seated at a 
table busily occupied in tracing a few lines to the Duke of 
Argyll. That letter contained the remains of the money 
he had brought over from France when about to start on 
this disastrous expedition.* 

IIo begged that it might be distributed amongst the inhab- 
itants of some villages which the necessities of war had 
compelled his followers to set fire to on his retreat from 
Perth. His tender conscience thus satisfied, he signified his 
readiness to depart. Two men whose fidelity could be relied 


* See Chambers’ History of Rebellions In Scotland, 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


53 


upon had been placed as sentinels before the door of his 
lodgings, and after a careful reconnoitering of the immediate 
neighborhood by his friends, the Chevalier stepped cautiously 
out, attended by Lord Mar, one servant, and Denis. 

Turning speedily into a dimly-lighted back street, they 
approached a desolate and little frequented spot which 
brought them to the water’s-edge, at which the boat was in 
readiness which was to carry him to the vessel, and before 
eight o’clock, the hour appointed for the clans to march, he 
had embarked, together with several persons of distinction, 
most of whom belonged to his household. 

Every care had been taken by the buxom Widow Regan 
that her infant charge should be kept as still as possible, and 
she succeeded well in her effort, so that when, after several 
hours had passed, an infant voice was at last heard to give 
utterance to that particular squall with which we are all 
more or less acquainted, it gave rise to many curious conjec- 
tures and some badinage on the part of the friends of St. 
John, in which the Chevalier himself joined, and finally 
Mrs. Regan was bade to bring the two babies for the inspec* 
tion of the prince and the other distinguished personages on 
board. 

“ By my faith, St. John, this is an increase to your fam- 
ily ; what will her ladyship say,” said the Chevalier, when 
the burst of laughter, which had greeted the advent of the 
two infants, had died away. 

*• Like a good dame and gentle lady as she is, your high- 
ness, she will yield to them a mother’s care. I nothing 
doubt her willingness in that respect. God hath taken from 
us our only daughter, and hath sent us two to fill her place.” 

“ One hath eyes as black as the raven’s wing, those of 
the other are blue as the azure of an Italian sky,” muttered 
the Chevalier. “ I pray you, tell me, St. John, what you 
0 * 


54 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


know of the parentage of these baby specimens of humanity, 
and how it was, that amidst the perils attendant on our 
departure, these young damsels fell in your way.” 

“ They have been both made orphans by the evils of our 
times, your highness. The lassie with eyes of jet is the 
little waif whose cries we both heard when in the glen two 
nights since. She was in the care of a dying woman, who 
gave a paper to my man Denis, declaring her to be the 
orphan child of a Jacobite gentleman, one Robert Lindsey. 
The paper, moreover, adds that her maternal grandfather is 
a woolen merchant of Edinburgh, who turned his daughter 
out of doors because she had married a Jacobite and a 
Papist, and that the child bears her mother’s name of Mar- 
garet. The woman was on her way to Dundee to seek pro- 
tection from a friend of the child’s father, when she fell ill. 
After this paper was written she appears to have bought 
shelter in that miserable hut in which she expired, in pres- 
ence of my man Denis.” 

“ And what of the blue-eyed bairn, St. John,” looking 
intently at the infant, who, in true baby fashion, held one 
of his fingers tight in her baby hand. “What may be her 
parentage, Marshal. I must have all the ins and outs of 
these little ones.” 

“The little blue-eyed lassie, your highness, is of real 
Milesian extraction. She is named Isabel Fitzgerald, and 

The Chevalier started at the mention of the name. 
“Surely,” he replied, “you arc not about to tell me that 
this helpless infant is the child of Captain Fitzgerald.” 

“ The same, your highness ; she is his posthumous daugh- 
ter. Ilis beautiful young wife was on intimate terms with 
Lady St. John, and begged me to protect her child should 
she die, and if her life was spared to allow her to accompany 
me to France. She died at Perth when the child was but 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS, 


55 


a week old, and true to my promise to the poor young lady, 
I engaged the good woman now present to rear my poor 
friend’s orphan child.” 

“ Brave as a lion in the field, my good Marshal, and yet 
tender and compassionate as a woman,” said the Chevalier. 
“ I wonder now what fate has in store for you, my little ones. 
Your lot hitherto has not been as bad as it might have been, 
seeing that the Marshal St. John had you under his wing.” 

In order to escape the vigilance of the English cruisers, 
who maintained a sharp lookout for the exiled Prince, it 
was deemed safest to make over to Norway and coast along 
the shores of Germany and Holland ; having done which 
the Prince and his companions arrived safely at Gravclincs, 
between Dunkirk and Calais, five days after the flight from 
Montrose. 



56 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER IX. 

A PRINCE AT A DISCOUNT. 

T lias been well said of the most unfortunate 
Stuart race, that they were in advance of the 
times in which their troubled lot was cast. 
The pages of history also reveal to us the fact 
that they were gifted with great affability and natural kind- 
liness of disposition. 

The flight of the unfortunate Chevalier dc St. George, 
who undoubtedly v:as the King of England, as to hereditary 
succession, terminated the Rebellion, as it was called, of 
1715. 

*Easy, good natured and naturally inclined to indolence, 
the Chevalier was easily led astray, cither by so-called 
friends or by the meretricious beauties by whom he was 
speedily surrounded, and his true friends and advisers 
looked anxiously forward to the time of his marriage with 
some young Princess. The poor Chevalier, however, was 
at a terrible discount in the matrimonial market. 

But a fair, amiable and high-spirited Princess came to 
the rescue. I wish I could tell you that in the end lie 
requited her love, as he ought to have done. Some seven- 
teen years old was Clementina Sobicski. She was daughter, 
you know, of Prince James of Poland, and her young heart 
became deeply interested in the fate of the last scion of the 
Stuart race, and dazzled, too, perhaps, at the glittering 
prospect of a throne, should the Chevalier finally succeed in 
wresting the crown of his forefathers from the Elector of 
Hanover. She joyfully acceded to the proposal of the envoy 
of James, when he presented himself at her father’s court. 



♦Jesse’s Memoirs of the Pretenders, 


OE, THE POSTER SISTERS. 


57 


Of course, one may easily understand that it was death to 
the plots and plans of the Whig Government of him who 
really occupied the throne of England, this overture of mar- 
riage on the part of the unfortunate man who had been 
despoiled of his birthright. 

If he remained unmarried, well and good ; the male 
hereditary line would become extinct in his person. So that 
they exerted their vigilance by spies, and intrigues, and 
villainies in every direction, to prevent him from having a 
wife. 

A nice business it seems, on looking back through the 
dim vista of years gone by. One hundred thousand pounds 
set on his head ; and though they had driven “the King 
over tho waters,” as the Jacobites called him, to Rome for 
a refuge, yet this poor Chevalier and his friends had to 
carry out their plans by dint of stratagem, because English- 
men at the head of the British Government had elected that 
he whom they had cast away should not espouse a wife. 

The gallant Irishman, Charles Wogan, who had been in 
tho field at Preston, and then taken prisoner and sent to 
Newgate, and who had cleverly managed to make his escape, 
was chosen by the Chevalier as his envoy to the young lady 
whose hand lie sought ; and she, who had pitied the misfor- 
tunes of the Stuart face — and pity is near akin to love, we 
arc told — after all preliminaries were settled, set off with 
a small escort to meet her future husband at Bologna. 

But matters oozed out, as they often do, when of a neces- 
sity there arc many perforce invited to keep a secret ; added 
to which, we arc told, that the Princess was a long time 
making her preparations, just as ladies do now-a-days, I 
suppose. But, however, be it as it may, it got bruited abroad 
that the Lady Clementina and her mother were passing 
through Innspruck in the Tyrol. Whereupon the English 


58 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


Minister at Vienna applied to the Emperor for aid, who, by 
the way, shines in this rascally piece of business, seeing that 
this Clementina was the grand-daughter of that J ohn Sobi- 
cski, who defeated the Turks before the walls of Vienna. 

Nevertheless, there are wheels within wheels in political 
as in private matters. The Emperor cared very little about 
Clememtina’s grandfather having saved his own father, and 
very much for the support which England afforded him in 
his efforts to acquire fresh possessions, and not at all, one 
may well suppose, about the lovely young girl whom it was 
just likely might prove a thorn in the side of a certain party 
in England, as by becoming the bride of the Chevalier she 
might also perpetuate the Stuart line. 

Fancy, young ladies, what your feelings would be, if on 
your way to meet your future husband, you were suddenly 
arrested and put in confinement, as was this Clementina. 
In company with her mother she was thus arrested and de- 
tained under guard of General Ileister at Innspruck. 

More powerless than the meanest man in the land to 
obtain an act of justice, such as the immediate liberation of 
his intended bride, the Chevalier was fain to allow Wogan 
to descend to stratagem in order to extricate the Princess 
from the position in which she was placed by the vigilance 
of the English government. 

He obtained fictitious passports, and induced three of his 
own kinsmen to help him carry out his plans. lie decided 
that they, with one trusty valet, should form the male por- 
tion of the party. 

Mrs. Missct, the wife of Captain Misset, one of Wogan’s 
relations, was prevailed on to lend her aid and personate the 
aunt of the Princess, and a smart, intelligent maid of her 
own, by name Jeannette, was to be introduced to her, 
change clothes with her, and remain in her bed for one day 


OR, THE POSTER SISTERS. 


59 


after the flight of tho latter, in order to deceive her Austrian 
Jccepcrs and lead them to believe she was still under their 
charge. 

Wogan had taken out passports as for the Count and 
Countess de Cernes, who were traveling to the Santa lake at 
Loretta. The supposed Count and his wife were one Major 
Gaydon and Mrs. Misset. Captain O’Toole, the valet, with 
Misset, were to act as armed outriders. 

Clad in a shabby hood and riding habit, both made in tho 
English fashion, Jeannette, pleading that the Princess re- 
quired her attendance on some feminine occupation, was 
allowed to pass unquestioned, the gentleman usher, Cha- 
teaudean, having asked permission to let her out at what 
time he pleased. 

No fear as to the chance of failure dismayed the mind of 
Clementina ; on the contrary, the excitement was a source 
of pleasure to her. She was infinitely delighted at the hope 
that after all she and her friends might prove more than a 
match for the cold, calculating policy of the English Ambas- 
sador and the crafty Emperor, who, to answer his own 
selfish political ends, was prosecuting even to imprisonment 
the grand-daughter of the man who had so heroically deliv- 
ered Vienna from the Turkish army. 






GO 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER X. 

TIIE ESCAPE. 

OR a short time, as the hour of her departure 
arrived, the courage of tho Princess gave way, 
and burying her face on the bosom of her 
mother, she shed many bitter tears, with a re- 
gretful pang perhaps at tho thought that she had resigned 
her quiet home in Silesia for the dazzling prospect of a 
crown. However, the die was cast; her pride was piqued 
at the shameless way in which she had been arrested, and 
forcing back her tears, the young princess allowed her 
mother to array her in the hood and cloak of Jeannette, who, 
for some hours at least, would have to personate herself. 

Again a sob of anguish as the beautiful head of the fair 
Clementina once more reposed on the neck of her fond 
mother, and then she tore herself away and accompanied 
Chateaudcan to the gate, he carrying a bundle composed of 
her jewels and some of the richest of her clothes. Believ- 
ing her to be only the girl whom he admitted some few hours 
previously, the porter allowed her to pass through unques- 
tioned, and the next moment tho Polish Princess, in the 
darkness of the winter night, found herself without the gates 
of her prison-house, and fearlessly resigned herself into the 
hands of strangers, for, with the exception of Wogan, whom 
she had never seen till he came to her father’s court to sol- 
icit her hand for the Chevalier, she had never before beheld 
the companions of her flight. It was past tho hour of mid- 
night, the wind howled in hollow gusts, and amidst a tem- 
pest of hail and snow so severe that the sentinel on duty had 
sought shelter in a tavern near at hand, the Princess Cle- 
mentina groped her way to the corner of the street, where 
Wogan awaited her coming in a state of the greatest anxiety. 



Cl- 


OI? ; THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

“Have courage, your highness,” ho whispered, as the 
half- fainting Princess clung to him for support, “ I hope the 
worst is over.” 

At that moment the faint sound of carriage wheels advanc- 
ing through the thickly falling snow struck upon her car. 

The equipage contained Mrs. Misset and three gentlemen, 
whom Wogan introduced to her as the companions and 
attendants of her flight. 

Safely ensconced in the warm carriage, her wet hood and 
habit removed, and a largo cloak heavily lined with fur 
thrown over her by Mrs. Misset, and a glass of good wine 
from a flask produced by her husband, the Princess gradually 
regained her former courage. 

In order to deceive General Heister if possible for twenty- 
four hours, the princess, for two days prior to her flight, 
had kept her bed on pretext of illness, and during the whole 
of the next day the maid Jeannette was to occupy it in her 
place, and to screen her mother from the imputation of con- 
niving at her escape, the Princess left a letter on her toilet 
table asking pardon for her flight, on the plea that by all 
laws, human and divine, she was obliged to follow her 
husband. 

The morning light having dawned, revealed to tho travel- 
ers a wild and open country, and the carriago stopped for a 
fresh relay of horses at a small waysido inn. To lull sus- 
picion, Clementina was again arrayed in the serving-maid’s 
attire, and conducted to a warm room, was seated by a large 
fire and refreshed with the best viands the house afforded, 
after which she again resumed her journey. 

The young girl could not, however, suppress a weary sigh 
as she gazed out on the bleak landscape, the leafless branches 
of the trees garlanded with the heavy snow drift, the sky 
of a leaden hue, the air piercingly cold. 

6 


62 THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

“ I trust we shall distance our pursuers,” said Wogan, at 
length breaking silence, and wishful to raise the spirits of 
the Princess. “We have been several hours on the road, 
and the caution of having relays of six horses at every 
change was wisely adopted. Your highness’ flight, too, will 
scarcely be ascertained for some hours in consequence of 
your being supposed to be ill.” 

“True, my kind friend,” said Clementina. “No one 
but my gentleman usher would have access to my apartment 
until eight this morning. Poor Chateaudean, and my dear- 
est mother, and the intelligent girl whom you sent to per- 
sonate me, I tremble, dear Mrs. Misset, to think how it will 
fare with them.” 

“ They will not be detained, your highness. The bird 
has flown which your enemies so unjustly imprisoned, and 
with God’s help, though our escape has been fraught with 
danger, you will soon be safely delivered out of the hands 
of your persecutors.” 

Well for Clementina Sobieski that she did not live in 
these days of electric telegraph. 

The day was far advanced when they changed horses for 
the third time, and they had intended after traveling some 
time longer to rest for the night. The state of the roads, 
bad at all times, was now laden with the hcav} T snow drift, 
and their progress became alarmingly impeded. In case of 
being overtaken by a special courier from Innspruck, Wogan 
had sent on O’Toole and Misset to a village called Wcllish- 
ville, and stopping at the chief inn of the place, they called 
for supper. Benumbed with cold and fatigue, they threw 
aside their traveling cloaks and seated themselves by a large 
fire, and O’Toole had just observed to his companion that it 
was past midnight and the way evidently clear of danger, 
when, as they sat down to eat, the courier himself entered 
the room. 


OK, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 6?» 

Like themselves, he was weary and fatigued with the 
severity of the weather, and O’Toole, glancing significantly 
at Missct, begged the courier to share with himself and his 
friend the tempting and smoking viands then on the table. 

Nothing loth was he to accept the invitation, and his 
hearty meal was washed down by copious draughts of wine, 
followed by cau dc vie. True is the saying, "'that when 
the wine is in, the sense is out.” The courier’s speech grew 
thick and incoherent, and at last his tongue blabbed out his 
secret, and dealing a heavy blow on the table with his fist, 
he exclaimed : 

“ I am sent here to intercept the banditti who have car- 
ried off the Princess Sobieski. Sec, gentlemen, here arc 
my despatches.” 

“ What say you, Mein Herr ?” exclaimed Misset, with an 
air of well feigned astonishment, which almost overturned 
the gravity of the laughter-loving O'Toole. “ Is it possi- 
ble the Princess has fled from Innspruck?” 

“ What I have told you is indeed too true,” replied the 
courier. “ The English Ambassador is enraged at the care- 
lessness with which the whole affair has been managed. 
General Ilcister, who had the custody of the Princess, has 
negligently discharged himself of his duty. She was not 
missed until eight o’clock this morning. I have ridden all 
day and all night by a straight route in order that I and my 
men may intercept the party. The Emperor will be much 
annoyed if this marriage be accomplished. It is well known 
how lie courts the favor of the English.” 

The two Irish gentlemen glanced at each other and then 
at the despatches which they so ardently longed to obtain ; 
and again and again they filled to the brim the glass of the 
unfortunate courier till he became so intoxicated that they 
assisted the inn-keeper in carrying him to bed, having pre- 
viously purloined the despatches, which they tore to pieces, 


64 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


and after so doing committed the pieces to the flames. They 
then left the house with the first gleam of daybrealc, leaving 
the helpless courier in a state wholly unfit to travel for at 
least twenty-four hours. 

You may well imagine that Wogan and his party made 
themselves very merry at the success of the enterprise of 
O'Toole and his companion; in fact, the two had proved 
themselves mainly instrumental in the furtherance of the 
escape of the Princess. 

Many more mischances on the road, caused by the break- 
ing down of their equipage, and unexpected delays arising 
from horses not being in readiness at places at which they 
were expected, at times threatened a fatal issue to the jour- 
ney ; but, save when these accidents occurred, Clementina 
bore up and charmed her companions by her cheerful, affa- 
ble disposition. 

At length, worn out with privation and fatigue they one 
day reached the confines of the Venetian territories, free 
from the machinations of the English, and arriving in safety 
at Bologna the disappointment awaited her of finding James 
absent on a secret expedition to Madrid. 

“I will follow him thither immediately,” said the poor 
harassed Princess. “ I cannot bear the suspense of awaiting 
his stay in this strange city, every hour seems like an age.” 

However, the fair Sobicski was open to conviction, and 
the remonstrances of her friends and, above all, their opin- 
ion, that by leaving Bologna she might rush anew into the 
trouble from which she had but just escaped, and fall into 
the hands of the agents of George the First, who were on 
the alert in every quarter, made her determine to remain in 
privacy till the return of her future husband. 

The marriage was performed by proxy in the Chevalier's 
absence, blit completed with the customary solemnities 
immediately on his return. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


65 


CHAPTER XI. 

UNDER TIIE SAME ROOF TREE. 

HE home of the Marshal St. John and his wife, 
our old friend the Lady Florence, was not at all 
unlike that of the saintly Sir Thomas More, 
the great Chancellor of England. Both the 
Marshal and his wife were rich. “The poor you have 
always with you,” the Gospel truth uttered by the lips 
of our Lord Himself was recognized by each of them. St. 
Germains abounded with poor people, for it was, as in 1090, 
the chief rendezvous of the Jacobite party, and was still the 
abiding place of the children, now grown up to manhood, of 
those who had suffered under the reign of the Dutch mon- 
arch. It was in fine the dwelling place of those who, in 
years yet to come, would again raise the watchword through- 
out England and Scotland which the Hanoverian dynasty 
termed rebellion. 

Like another Sir Thomas More, the Marshal suffered the 
grey walls of his chateau in the valley to shelter not unfre- 
(jucntly many who sprang not of his race, and of his own 
abundance the sick and the needy were bounteously assisted. 

Beneath his roof grew up with his grandson the orphan 
children Margaret and Isabel. They were regarded as the 
adopted daughters of the Marshal and his lady. One of 
these children l i Is fair to become a beautiful woman, for 
Margaret’s skin is fair as a lily; her features regular and 
classical in their outline ; her eyes, large, dark, and lustrous, 
arc veiled by long silken lashes ; her form tall and slender. 

Young as she is, she has already learned to assume an air 
of domineering importance over the fair, timid little girl 
6 * 



06 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


who, as yet, can boast no charms beyond her soft blue eyes 
and golden hair. Her features, unlike those of her foster- 
sister, arc irregular ; her mouth too large to be pretty ; her 
form angular and awkward; yet without there is a pleasing 
expression in her plain face, and she may develop later into 
a passably fair woman, when time shall have rounded may- 
hap the at present ungainly form, and increasing age give 
the features an air of due proportion ; they are far too large 
at present to be in keeping with the childish face. She is 
shy and (juict, with a strong childish love in her little heart 
for the only friends she has ever known, the good Marshal 
and his wife. 

A beautiful boy, nearly of the same age as the little girls, 
is their companion. He appears a perfect little Hercules 
beside these children ; soft curls of rich brown hair fall over 
his shoulders ; his hazel eyes are full of intelligence, and he 
seems to affect more the society of Margaret than that of the 
timid little girl, who has meekly submitted to be cast aside 
as it were when the imperious Margaret willed it should 
be so. 

Margaret, too, is clever beyond her years. She seems 
intuitively to take in the instruction she receives without 
difficulty to herself. 

Isabel is rather less intelligent, but what sho lacks in 
talent she will make up for in perseverance. She plods 
patiently over the same task assigned to Margaret, and looks 
wistfully at her companions’ gambols, but she will not lay 
her book aside, or think of joining them till she too has 
accomplished her task. Such a child as this will make a 
patient heroine should her path be strewn with thorns rather 
than flowers. 

The honest nurse, formerly the Widow Regan, still holds 
that post in the Marshal’s household. Both children had 


G7 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

drawn their nurture from the same breast, but the foster 
mother yielded up her heart to little Isabel, the first poor 
waif that had been put under her care. 

“ Mark those children,” said the Lady St. John to her 
daughter-in-law, as she looked forth from the open windows 
of a pleasant morning-room on that lady’s little son and the 
two orphans. Margaret, the first in every sport the bolder 
boy suggested, Isabel timidly standing by his side, seeming 
to be with them but not of them. She always lingered near 
the boy, as if in a manner craving his help. 

“ That child Margaret reminds me always of some little 
elf,” said the younger lady. “Clever and beautiful un- 
doubtedly, but she will require careful training, young as 
she is. Nothing gives her greater pleasure than to throw 
Isabel into the shade.” 

“Nurse entertains almost a positive aversion for the 
child,” remarked Lady St. John. “ I tell her it is very 
wrong, for Margaret is so young as to be scarcely responsi- 
ble. I wish my dear old friend, Grace Wilmot, were not 
too old to be plagued with a wayward child, I would put 
Mistress Margaret under her charge at once.” 

“ Grace, dearest madam,” said the old lady, who hap- 
pened to be within hearing, “ is not that far gone but that 
she can instruct Miss Margaret how she should demean her- 
self. Nurse told me but yesterday that she is fast becoming 
a most mischievous little sprite in daring, far exceeding 
Madamc’s son, and so vain and haughty withal that there is 
no bearing the place with her. As to Miss Isabel, young 
as Margaret is, she makes her ever the butt of her childish 
sarcasm.” 

“You will oblige me, then, dear Grace, if you will 
resume the post of preceptress a few hours daily, which you 
have never held since my dearest Beatrice died. I will tell 


68 THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

both the children that they arc to yield you an implicit 
obedience.” 

On the evening of the day on which Grace, with her sev- 
enty years over her head, agreed again to resume duties so 
long abandoned, she communicated the wishes of Lady Flor- 
ence to the nurse. 

The features of Grace, erst the handmaiden of the court 
beauty of Queens Mary Stuart and Mary Beatrice, then 
her companion and her friend and confidant, had undergone 
but little change from the hand of time. It is strange, but 
nevertheless true, that oftentimes the features of a really 
plain person wear better than those cast in a softer mould. 
Hugged and hard of lineament in youth and middle age, 
they had rather softened as years passed on, whilst her 
always fine eyes had lost nothing of their brightness. Iler 
figure was erect as a dart ; her hair, white as silver, was 
laid in smooth bands under her coif. 

She was, as when I first presented her to you, a silent, 
reserved woman, commanding the respect, if not the love, 
of all who came within the range of her influence. Severe 
she was to herself, but kind and lenient to others, and she 
was the trusted fricud of the Marshal and his wife, as well 
as of the wife of their son. 

It was a pleasant summer evening. Through the leafy 
woods you could discern the towers of the palace of St. 
Germains. It was now untenanted, for the beloved friend 
and mistress of Lady Florence had passed to her eternal 
rest. The hedges teem with wild flowers, which send up a 
balmy fragrance on the air, and the nightingale is warbling 
its most plaintive note. 

“It is time the children should be put to bed,” said 
nurse, when Grace had made known the wish of the Lady 
St. John. “I can hear their voices in the garden but can- 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


69 


not see them. I will ring the bell for the maid to bring 
them up. But I was after saying, Mrs. Wilmot, I wonder 
if that child Margaret does come of good stock ? My good 
man Denis found her in a lonesome hut in a Scottish glen. 
A dying woman had the wee thing in her arms. There teas 
a bit of paper, ’tis true, saying she was the child of one Mr. 
Lindsey, but that is all that is known about the proud little 
miss, who gives herself such airs over me, her own foster- 
mother, that whiles I cannot do with her at all. She were 
but a few weeks old when she was picked up, as a body may 
say. The woman who had charge of her was a poor starvin 
body, and the place very lonesome. ’Twas my boy Denis 
who saved the child’s life ; he wrapped it up in his cloak, 
carried it to the Marshal, and asked him to let him bring it 
to me to give it suck. He is a jewel, Mrs. Wilmot; one 
of the best boys that ever lived ; fancy a great fellow like 
lie is walking to the Marshal’s lodgings with a wee bit baby 
in his arms, after watching all night by a dyin woman, and 
asking lave to rear the child as his own, and thin he brings 
it me and puts it alongside dear Miss Isabel for the breast; 
it was on that morning that my dear boy made me the happy 
woman by askin me to take him for my husband ; and sure 
it was disappointed my poor boy was when the Marshal said 
he would adopt the child and bring it up as his own, and” — 

At that moment both the nurse and Grace started, for 
they fancied they heard a movement behind them. 

“Bless me, w-hat was that noise? I’m sure I thought 
something moved,” said nurse, who was rather given to be 
superstitious, “ and sure everything looks quite ghosty now. 
The moon has risen ; I must ring again ; Annette is lato 
with those children.” 

Just then, however, the prattle of little voices was heard, 
and Edward St. John and Isabel bounded into the nursery. 

“ Where is Miss Margaret?” exclaimed nurse. 


70 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN J 


“ I have been a long while looking for the young lady,” 
said the bonne; “ she is very mischievous and naughty ; I 
thought she might have got to the nursery before me.” 
te Strange ; where can she be ? ” said nurse. “ However, 
do you hear the children say their prayers, and prepare them 
for bed, and I will go and seek after her.” 

Neither Grace nor nurse were mistaken when they thought 
they heard a movement near them. Had they turned round 
a moment sooner, they would have seen a little white face, 
shaded by curls of jet black hair, peering in upon them 
through the half-opened nursery door. The child stood as 
one spell-bound. She had run away from the other children 
and escaped to the nursery first ; and hearing her own name 
mentioned, with a curiosity from which older persons are 
often not exempt, she paused to listen. 

Her features grew rigid as the words of her foster-mother 
fell on her car, and she clasped her tiny hands upon her 
heart as if she would still its wild throbbing. 

From that night young Margaret’s new life began. She 
was already old in proud and passionate feeling when the 
painful revelation so mortifying to the child's self-love was 
concluded. 

She stole away to her bed-room rpiitc alone, took off her 
clothes herself with a marvellous rapidity, pushed back the 
mass of rich hair which fell over her burning temples, and 
by the light of the moon made her way to the small white- 
curtained bed destined for her use and placed opposite to 
that of Isabel. 

She feigned to be asleep when, after a long and fruitless 
search, nurse came to examine the bed-room, though with 
little or no hope that she should find her there. 

“ You arc very naughty, Miss Margaret,” said nurse, on 
discovering her in bed. “You give me no end of trouble, 


OK, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 


71 


and I shall complain of you to Lady St. John. To undress 
yourself sure, and go to bed without saying your prayers, 
and all your nice clothes laying on the ground, too.” 

But nurse met with no reply, and drawing down the bed- 
clothes a little lower, found the little girl asleep as she 
believed. 

“ A strange child — a strange child,” she went away mut- 
tering to herself. “One would almost think ‘the good 
people’ had brought a little elf of their own to the hut in 
which my boy Denis found her.” 

The pale moonbeams cast a sickly light athwart the cham- 
ber, the little Isabel had been placed in bed and had long 
since fallen asleep, nurse and Grace had descended to the 
lower apartments, and a dead silence reigned in the upper 
stories of the large old building. 

Time crept on, the old clock in the turret struck the hour 
of eleven, and one by one the doors of the various sleeping 
apartments were closed as the household retired for the 
night. 

But there was one who kept silent and dreary watch, 
over whose young head scarce ten summers had passed 
away, one who, in the hours that intervened between night 
and morning, had merged at once, in thought, and feeling, 
and passion, from childhood to womanhood, who had bridged 
over the flowery season of childhood and early youth. But 
the chasm had left a frightful void in her young heart, and 
when twenty summers shall have made a woman of Margaret 
Lindsey, she will neither think nor feel with greater intensity 
than on this terrible night ; her proud and haughty nature 
will not be one iota colder and haughtier than at present. 

Like a wan spectre sits the child by the latticed casement, 
looking out on the still landscape lighted up by the silvery 
moonbeams, the tiny hand is placed on the burning brow, 
and ever and again she speaks half aloud. 


72 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“ Found in a hut ! Was not that what she said? Yes, 
I remember it well ; and that Denis, her husband and the 
Marshal’s servant, was going to bring me up as his child. 
His child, indeed ! Why, I am a gentleman’s child.” And 
here the small hand was clenched so that the nails penetrated 
within the tender palm. “ Found in a hut! My mother 
must have been very poor, then. And she, that ugly Isabel, 
she is the daughter of the Marshal’s friend, for they all say 
that. And why was I born poor and saved from death by a 
serving-man any more than she ? ” and as she spoke she 
darted an angry glance at the sleeping occupant of the bed 
beside her. “ They tell me I am a proud and haughty 
child, and it is good to be humbled, and so Madame Wilmot 
is to be put over me, and — oh, I wish, I wish I was a 
woman, I would” — 

At that moment the little girl’s colloquy was cut short by 
the appearance of a large bat, which flapped its huge wings 
against the casement, and it was with difficulty she kept 
down the shriek that rose to her lips. ^ 

The effect of the fright had passed away, and pale and 
cold as the white moonbeams, she had crept to her bed, but 
pausing on her way thither, she darted a look of intense 
hatred at Isabel. 

“ I hate you,” said she between her set teeth. ‘‘ I would 
harm you if I dared. Why are you a happier girl than I 
am. Found in a hut, hungry and cold, and they all know 
it. The very servants know it,” she repeated, rocking her- 
self to and fro in her bed. “ Shall I ask Lady St. John if 
it be true ? No, I won’t. Nurse never tells stories. I will 
keep it all to myself for awhile. They call me a child. 
Ah, ah, ah, that is not true, or if I am a child, I do not 
think and feel like one.” 

There was a long pause in this commune with self, for her 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


73 


tears now fell thick and fast. All the pangs, and passions, 
and jealousies of womanhood were already racking that 
tender bosom. 

“ What will they say to me in tho morning?” she said. 
“ It makes one’s eyes hot and red when one cries. I must 
be a woman, and keep back my tears. I feel almost like 
one, though only a little girl.” 

Poor Margaret ! Proud and passionate ; such a child in 
years, yet so old in thought and feeling. At length the 
clock struck the hour of three, and then she laid her aching 
head on the pillow and wept herself to sleep. 

Small wonder that at seven o’clock she could not raise her 
throbbing head, her hands were parched with a burning 
fever, her brain disordered, the doctor was sent for, and 
declared that the child had all the symptoms of brain fever. 

Grace and the nurse then spoke of her strange conduct 
tho previous evening, her undressing herself, having con- 
cealed herself from tho other children, and it was at onco 
supposed that the attack of illness was then coming on. 

But nurso noticed that in the ravings of delirium the child 
mumbled incessantly about something that evidently preyed 
on her mind. 

“/ was found in a hut, I was found in a hut ,” sho kept 
saying to herself. 

“ There is something on that child’s mind, nurse,” said 
Lady St.John and the doctor. “Has any one named to 
her the circumstances under which she was found when an 
infant?” 

The nurse then spoke of her conversation with Mrs. Wil- 
mot. Was it possible the child had overheard it? 

Yes, of that there could be no doubt; and granting the 
idea to be correct, then what a disposition must that be for 
the narration to have left such an impression on the mind. 
7 


74 


TIIE LIMERICK VETERAN} 


Lady St. John and her daughter-in-law might well trem- 
ble for the future of their young charge. 

Such a character rarely steers in a middle course. It 
cither ends in being atrociously wicked, or, by the grace of 
God and the workings of its own strong will, may be moved 
to good. Such a one may develop into a monstrous sin- 
ner or become one of heaven’s glorified saints. 



OK, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


75 


CHAPTER XH. 

AFTER MANY YEARS. 

5 it is not my intention to chronicle the say- 
ings and doings of childhood except in so far as 
is necessary to show the truth of the old say- 
ing, “The child is father to the man,” you 
will please imagine ten summers to have passed away since 
that night of young Margaret’s escapade and the illness that 
resulted therefrom. 

It was not very long after the child’s recovery before Lady 
St. John decided that the wisest course to be pursued was 
to send the damsel to a convent school. Thither, however, 
she was accompanied by Isabel, with the hope that the exam- 
ple of her gentle, winning way would in the end act benefi- 
cially, and help, in a silent, unobtrusive way, to tame Mar- 
garet’s fiery spirit. 

The child had remained ill for some weeks, delirious for 
several days, but as she never reverted, as she became con- 
valescent, to the conversation she had evidently heard, and 
which it was certain had chafed her proud spirit beyond her 
child’s powers of endurance, Lady St. John had given the 
nurse strict orders never in any way to touch on the subject 
of her late illness. During the time, however, that inter- 
vened between young Margaret’s recovery and the day on 
which she left for the first time the shelter of her beneficent 
protectors’ roof she was closely watched, and no opportunity 
neglected by which this strange child’s fearfully strong pas- 
sions might bo nipped in the bud — a resolve wisely taken, 
and judiciously carried out, and all the more necessary 
because the young damsel so carefully locked up in her own 
little breast the knowledge that she had obtained merely by 



7G 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


an unfortunate accident. The point, too, in her conduct 
that the Lady Florence least liked was, that her protegee , 
with the astuteness of one three times her own age, parried 
all the attacks which she herself and her friend Grace skil- 
fully made, by introducing occasionally into conversation 
the mention of the orphan state of herself and Isabel. 

The lips of the young girl remained resolutely scaled ; she 
was armed at all points, and invulnerable to any attack. 

“ The nuns will probe my young damsel and discover 
what stuff she is made of,” said Grace, with a quiet laugh, 
as she exhibited for Lady St. John’s approbation the trous- 
seau of the two little girls. “ As far as she dares to show 
it, my young lady does not give herself even the trouble of 
hiding the aversion she feels for gentle little Isabel. But 
mind, if I ever read a character rightly in my whole life, 
Margaret has a woman of determination to deal with in 
Dame Agatha.” 

And verily so she had. Even the gentle Isabel almost 
feared the Sister, who had somewhat less of the winning 
ways about her for which good nuns are generally noted ; 
added to which her physique was somewhat formidable, for 
she was exceedingly tall of stature and hard of feature. 
Forbidding to those who were not acquainted with her many 
virtues she certainly was, but, like a nut, she was hard and 
rough to outward appearance; only reach her heart, and, 
like the kernel, it was sweet and soft. 

Thus, despite the exterior and the want of that suavitcr 
in modo which wins the hearts of old and young, but more 
especially of the latter, this Dame Agatha had been chosen 
by tho unanimous voice of the Sisterhood head mistress of 
the school, and many wore they whose youthful hearts had 
beat when first brought within the range of her influence, 
but who had soon learned to lovo and respect her as their 
dearest friend. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. ff 

Having said this much, and also that Grace, who took the 
young damsels to the Benedictine Abbey, also informed the 
Sister of the incident I have alluded to, I shall merely add 
that Dame Agatha did her best. The young lady required 
the reins to be held tight, and this nun was a well qualified 
person to tame her into subjection if she could be tamed. 
But Dame Agatha’s efforts were doomed to prove fruitless. 
She toiled for her, prayed for her, made novenas for her, 
was now severe, then lenient, but all to no avail. She left 
the convent school, at the age of eighteen, a beautiful, 
showy young woman, accomplished beyond the generality 
of her sex, but proud and unbending to the heart’s core. 
The lessons of the religious had failed to teach her humility 
of spirit, or to grace her character with any of those virtues 
which make a woman pure and lovable. Her lips remained 
sealed as to the story of her infancy, as they were in the 
days of her childhood. It was only the hours of delirium 
which had revealed what she had felt. 

In future Margaret’s actions alone shall speak for her. I 
will say a few words to you concerning Isabel. 

She had grown up to be almost a woman without any pre- 
tension to beauty. Her mouth was too large, her nose too 
retrousse to be pretty, the upper lips not sufficiently short, 
and yet the face wins upon you ; it is a countenance beam- 
ing with good nature and natural kindliness, and at last you 
learn to love it the oftencr you see it; and you will agree 
With me in the end, that the face which prepossesses and 
charms your fancy in this way is far better than that which 
takes you by storm with its beauty. • 

As I am not one of those persons who believe in perfectly 
faultless characters, never having met with such a one, and 
not entertaining any belief in their existence, I shall describe 
Isabel to you in a way free from exaggeration as to terms. 
7* 


78 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

By nature she was mild and gentle, and the antithesis was 
ever before her in the foster-sister, who, perhaps to try her 
own virtue, was ever near her for many years of her life. 
She was not, however, such an angel in human shape as not 
to writhe under, and sometimes even resent, the sarcastic 
taunts of the beautiful Margaret. Naturally meek-tempered, 
you will perceive she had less merit in turning away wrath 
with gentle words than if she had been prone to the con- 
trary vice ; but opportunities were not wanting to her, and 
virtue and good-will helped her to bear and forbear where, 
without either the one or the other, she had fallen away. 



OR, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 


79 


CHAPTER XIII. 

TIIE OLD, OLD TALE. 

HE large, quaint old chateau at St. Germains 
was still tenanted by the two families, the Lady 
Florence and her husband, with their son and 
daughter-in-law. Between the two ladies the 
tcndercst attachment had always subsisted, and the long 
and frequent absences of the Marshal and his son, both 
being in the French army, drew these ladies yet more 
closely together. 

But the tic became still more tender after the death of 
Madame’s husband, who fell as a brave soldier on the field 
of battle, and now, reft of both son and daughter, the affec- 
tions of the Lady Florence were centred still more strongly 
on Madame and her children. 

These two ladies lived in great retirement and privacy ; 
therefore, it may readily be conceived that as time wore on 
and the eldest son of Madame St. John returned from his 
studies at St. Sulpicc and declared his intention of entering 
the military profession, that the foster-sisters hailed his arri- 
val with pleasure, as for a time at least the monotony of their 
lives would be broken. 

Tall of stature, of dark complexion, and with a cast of 
features which seemed chiselled as those of a Grecian statue, 
Maurice St. John exhibited in his person the true type of 
manly beauty. 

When the two damsels arrived home from the convent, 
Maurice was still at St. Sulpicc. They remembered him 
only as the playmate of their childhood, but the case was 
altered now, and a certain sort of reserve and shyness must 
be mingled with aught that might remain of their former 
familiarity. 




80 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“ Is it possible ? Surely you arc not the Margaret and 
Isabel I played with when a child,” was the remark of Mau- 
rice as the black-eyed beauty tripped smilingly forward, 
whilst the more timid Isabel lingered beside his mother. 
“ What a change the lapse of time has made! ” he added, 
gazing admiringly on those whom he only remembered as 
children, but who had now sprung up into womanhood. 

“ But you forget how long that lapse of years has been,” 
said Margaret. “If my memory be not treacherous, it is 
not less than ten years. Wc were but children when we 
parted.” 

Unquestionably, the return of the young man to his pater- 
nal home was the thing best calculated to rouse Margaret 
from the melancholy which seemed her normal state. Her 
proud heart had never forgotten the revelation of ten years 
since, and whenever honest Denis by any chance came in 
her way, when the Marshal happened to be at home, she felt 
a sore wound to her pride at the remembrance that he, a 
serving-man, had offered to adopt her. 

You may readily conceive that Isabel was the favorite 
with the elder ladies of the chateau. Moreover, she was 
beloved by all who knew her. Again, she was the orphan 
child of a friend, and that consideration, united to her own 
good qualities, formed another strong link to bind the tlirc<^ 
together. 

It would have well pleased the Lady St. John if, when 
her daughter-in-law occasionally took the damsels to spend 
a few weeks at the hotel of the Baron de Brcteul, she could 
have seen her haughty protegee safely launched in honorable 
matrimony ; but, as yet, she was simple Margaret Lindsey. 
If those she met were struck with her beauty, they were in 
no way enamored with her pride, or with the frivolity which, 
beguiling those who at times made their advances, coolly 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


81 


threw them aside when a new face or a larger fortune 
appeared on the scene. 

But the cold, proud, evil heart seemed after all to have a 
soft spot when the son of Madame St. John arrived at the 
. chateau. 

To sec Margaret well married, to know that she had 
sobered down into a good and happy wife, would have given 
infinite pleasure to those who, if her wilfulness rendered 
love out of the question, had still her warmest interests at 
heart, but to see her enter their own family, to behold her 
become the bride of the eldest grandson of the Marshal, was 
not at all what they desired. 

As to Margaret, she could when it pleased her skilfully 
conceal the dark traits in her character. She could even 
condescend to be civil to Isabel, humble to Lady Florence, 
and officiously polite to the mother of one whom she wished 
to please. 

With regard to Maurice himself, he was wholly engaged 
in preparations for his new career. At first his thoughts 
scarcely turned to the dangerous beauty in his path ; even- 
tually lie found certain pleasure in her conversation, a tacit 
acknowledgment that she was the most lovely and accom- 
plished woman he had ever met. 

Endowed with every quality which would render a woman 
a devoted and affectionate wife, and with a heart susceptible 
of the most tender emotions, innocent and virtuous, Isabel 
had yielded up her heart unconsciously to herself. 

“Can I wonder,” she said to herself, as she beheld her 
pale face and irregular features reflected in the glass, “ can 
I wonder that his fancy is caught by Margaret? She is as 
beautiful as I am the reverse, and far more talented and 
accomplished. My voice is weak and ineffective, and I 
behold him entranced as her rich contralto resounds in his 


82 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


cars. She is so witty, too, though, alas ! the playfulness of 
her wit, as she terms it, comes too often liked a barbed arrow 
to my soul, for it veils some cutting sarcasm on my lack of 
genius or my homely face. Ah, well ! ah, well ! good Dame 
Agatha,” she added, with a weary sigh, “ you used to tell . 
me I was proud and sensitive, and so I am. I must try and 
be very brave and hide what I suffer, and hope, if she does 
marry him, that she will make him a good wife, and tint, 
in the wise decrees of God, all will be for the best.” 

There were tears in her deep blue eyes as she spoke, and 
she dashed them hastily aside as if ashamed of the momen- 
tary weakness. 

There is such a thing as for man, and woman too, to be 
dazzled by appearances, and thus to mistake worthless dross 
for the solid ore, for all is not gold that glitters; and so it 
had happened that Maurice St. John had felt an attraction 
for the meretricious charms of Margaret, whilst Isabel had 
been passed by. 

His mother observed nothing, but the Lady St. John was 
more sharp-sighted ; she had her eyes, and ears too, always 
open. The Lady Florence was now fast sinking into years, 
but she still preserved in a remarkable degree those charms 
which, at the epoch of the Revolution, had won for her the 
soubriquet of the Rose of St. Germains, first conferred upon 
her by that courtly monarch, Louis the Fourteenth. In the 
court of Mary, wife of William the Third, the “ O’Neill” 
had been equally celebrated for her beauty, and few who 
looked on the still handsome and elegant woman could real- 
ize the fact that she was really the grandmother of Maurice 
St. John. 

It was with a feeling of intense satisfaction that, a few 
weeks later, the Lady received the Marshal’s announcement 
that within a month Maurice must accompany him to the 


OH, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


83 


Netherlands; Lady St. John was cognizant of Isabel’s 
secret, jealously as sho thought she had guarded it, yet, 
thinking it well that the present aspect of things should be 
checked by the departure of Maurice, she would have kept 
silence but for a few words expressive of admiration of the 
character of Isabel which fell from his lips the night pre- 
vious to his departure. 

Dazzled indeed he had been for a time, even as she had 
bewitched others by her wondrous beauty and her wit and 
talents, but his heart after awhile had turned where the 
Lady St. John and his mother most desired, to the gentle 
Isabel, and with their sanction and that of the Marshal, she 
received his plighted troth on the eve of his departure. 



81 THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

CHAPTER XIY. 

ON TIIE WATCH. 

T was a chill night towards the end of Septem- 
ber, the wind blew in fitful gusts around the 
old chateau in the valley, and the rain, which 
had fallen in drizzling showers throughout the 
day, now fell in that heavy, determined down-pour which 
always betokens a wet night. It was not quite dark ; there 
was sufficient light to descry a female form making its way 
through the valley, bending ever and again beneath the 
heavy gale. 

The towers of the palace on the summit above the vale, 
which had so long afforded a shelter for one of the most 
unfortunate of England’s kings, loomed darkly in the dis- 
tance. It was in that direction that tho damsel in the vale 
wended her way. 

There is a watcher at the library window of tho chateau 
whoso gaze is steadfastly fixed on the receding form in the 
distance. She hears the clock in the turret strike tho half 
hour of six, and on her superbly handsome features there is 
an expression of intense hatred, mingled with wonder, and 
curiosity, and delight. 

What has she seen ? What has she beheld to make her 
remain away from the cheerful blaze of the wood fire shiv- 
ering at the window, with the heavy curtain upraised with 
one hand, while the other is tightly clenched together? 

I will tell you. In the distance, just as the female whom 
she has watched was about to turn down a path which would 
lead up an ascent to the palace above, she has descried a 
young man hastening forward to meet her ; he has grasped 
her hand with affectionate warmth, and now she leans upon 



85 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

his arm ; they walk on, and still there is light sufficient to 
distinguish them if they turn up tho hill. Yes, she is cor- 
rect in her idea, for after tho lapse of two minutes they 
reappear, till at last the increasing darkness and the blind- 
ing storm hide them from her sight. Then the lady who 
has been watching these two persons lets the curtain fall into 
its place, and creeps away with a shiver to the cheery wood 
fire. There she sits with her hands folded the one over tho 
other, her beautiful lips wreathed into a cruel, scornful 
smile ; tho red flame lights up her features, but they are dis- 
torted with the reflection of tho bad passions which vex and 
disturb her soul. 

She expresses her thought aloud. 

“ I have watched her to-night, ” she says to herself; “ to- 
morrow I will do more than watch ; I will follow her. At 
last then I have her in my power ; at last I can show her up 
as she really is, the false hypocrite, who dared to compete 
with me for his affections. She has made a traitor of him 
with naught but a gentle manner and a pair of blue eyes ; 
but now I have her fast. What will my Lady St. John and 
Madame say when they shall hear of these nightly rambles 
in tho wind and rain, and of their immaculate favorite’s new 
acquaintance — Madame so rigorous in her notions that she 
would swoon at tho idea of a maiden being out in the even- 
ing hour by herself? What will he say too, he who so 
cruelly neglected mo for that pale-faced minx ? ” 

Then she rose and walked up and down the spacious 
apartment ; long and narrow it was, and the flickering light 
of the wood fire played on the oaken roof and antique pan- 
elling of the walls. 

She was restless and nervous, and after awhile again 
returned to her seat ; her countenance was as that of one 
possessed by the furies, and clenching her small hand, she 
exclaimed : 8 


8G 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN ; 


“I will destroy you, detested Isabel, even as I would 
crush a fly. Why was I, Margaret Lindsey, with my 
glorious intellect, my energetic mind, endowed w T ith the 
power I feel that I possess of ability to grasp at 
once a difficulty where she and others of my feeble 
sex linger far behind, crawling on their way by dint 
of application such as fools alone need, and yet my 
evil destiny has decreed that / should be a cast away, 
the thing of charity, indebted to a mean serving-man that I 
was saved from death ? Ah ! better had I not been saved. 
Can I ever forget that he should to this day feel that he, in 
his charity, thought of bringing me up as his daughter for- 
sooth? And then to creep through life with this Lady Flor- 
ence and Madame, to follow in their monotonous, pious walic, 
to smother all my proud feelings and ambitious aspirings, to 
try and lead them to believe I am what I am not, to listen 
with at least an assumed air of patience to the Cure’s admo- 
nitions — for he has a long head and is hard to deceive — it is 
much more than I can bear.” 

The whirlwind of passion that had shook her soul was 'for 
a few moments silenced, and tears trickled down her face. 
Only for a moment, however, did a shade of feminine soft- 
ness assume its sway ; she again rose and paced the room. 

“ Is this life always to last?” said she. “ If so, I shall 
curse the day that the unhappy woman who brought me into 
the world gave me birth. Shall I ever know who she was ? ” 
she added, drawing the miniature from her bosom which her 
dead mother had hung round her infant neck. “ You have 
lovely features,” she exclaimed, apostrophizing the inani- 
mate portrait. “Very lovely, but tame and gentle; not 
cast in the fiery mould of the unfortunate being you brought 
into the world. I could fancy you, with your fair hair and 
blue eyes, had rather been the mother of that detested Isa- 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


87 


bel, and should have thought myself a changeling, but that 
nurse’s evidence would dispel the flattering illusion.” 

Then, with a weary sigh, she replaced the miniature in 
the folds of her dress and sat her down again. Her tears, 
those mute evidences of womanly weakness, had passed 
away, and a bitter smile, arising from a thought that flitted 
across her mind, played on her beautiful face. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I will let him know, by means of an 
anonymous letter, what her occupation is, and thus I will 
bring the truant back to myself. If I become his wife I can 
shake off my thraldom to these women, and, above all, I 
shall make her suffer who has lorded it over me all my life, 
she, the child of one of their own friends, whom they believe 
to possess all the virtues under the sun.” 

Again her meditations were disturbed by the clock in the 
turret striking the hour of eight. 

“ Eight o’clock, and not yet back,” she said. “It is all 
as it should be. I shall hold my peace and not even speak 
to Mistress Grace till I shall have watched my young lady 
to-morrow night ; perhaps I will keep it to myself altogether 
and not even send an anonymous letter to Maurice.” 

Suddenly the door of the library was opened, and the 
object of her vindictive hate entered the library. Her face 
was very pale, she looked weary and fatigued, and her 
swollen eyelids betrayed that she had shed many tears. 

“ Bless me, child, where have you been all this long 
time,” said Margaret, rousing herself for an onslaught. 
“It is not kind to leave me so much alone in the absence of 
our idolized mistresses. I am sure I really feel moped to 
death in this gloomy old place, with its dismal closets big 
enough in all conscience for sleeping apartments ; its spa- 
cious corridors echoing back the sound of one’s own foot- 
steps ; its heavy oaken panellings ; its dry moat and gloomy 


88 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


avenue ; with the wind piping a requiem to the decayed and 
fading hopes of two luckless damsels whoso hapless lot it is 
to be done to death with ennui in the dreary old place.” 

“Oh, my beautiful Margaret, what strange things you 
do say,” said Isabel, placing herself on a small footstool near 
the fire, and holding out her cold hands in order to warm 
them by its cheery blaze. “ I shall be very glad when the 
visit of the family to the Scottish home of Lord Balmcrino 
is at an end, for our home is dull without them. But, I beg 
pardon, dear, I differ with you on two points.” 

Isabel’s face was turned a little aside, but she was so near 
to her false foster-sister that the latter could see every change 
in her countenance that her own words might evoke. How 
little did Isabel know that Margaret’s eyes had watched her 
in the valley two hours since, or that she was now under the 
domination of a fierce enemy. 

“ And pray, my dear Isabel,” and the tones of Margaret's 
voice lingered with a slightly sarcastic inflexion on the term 
of womanly endearment, “ in what way may I be so extremely 
unfortunate as to differ with your amiable and accomplished 
self?” 

“Do not speak so satirically, dear Margaret. You well 
know I am not half so clever and accomplished as yourself. 
I only meant to say that the dear Lady Florence and Madame 
St. John can scarcely be termed our mistresses; they are 
rather as most dear mothers in our regard, seeing we were 
adopted by the Lady St. John in the years of our helpless 
infancy; and as to the chateau, Margaret, it is only like all 
other quaint old houses of its kind, dull enough at this 
dreary autumn season, and doubly so on account of the 
absence of its good owners; but it has its beauties, love, for 
those who like antiquity and fine scenery, and to me it is a 
grand, dear old place, the only home I have ever known, 
and”— 


89 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

“When you have done with your long preamble perhaps 
you will allow me to speak.” 

‘ ‘ Margaret, have I offended you in anything I have said? ” 
and as Isabel spoko she looked up wonderingly at her com- 
panion. She had shaded her face with her hands, so that 
the cold, cruel expression of her countenance escaped Isabel’s 
observation. 

“It is scarcely worth while to differ with you on every 
point ; but our views and feelings are so widely dissimilar 
that you would not understand me. But I should like an 
answer to one question. We are both women, no longer 
even in our girlhood, seeing we have each passed our twen- 
tieth year. Is it possible that you have never felt an aspi- 
ration beyond that which may be centered beneath the roof 
of this tumble-down old chateau ? that you have never enter- 
tained a sentiment of affection beyond those who so gra- 
ciously and condescendingly protected those infantile years 
you have alluded to so prettily ? that you have never har- 
bored a desire or undertaken any feat without the knowledge 
of these benefactresses ? ” 

For a moment there was a dead silence between the two 
young women. Isabel knew, though she did not see, for she 
never raised her head, that the pitiless eyes of her foster- 
sister were bent searchingly upon her ; that she was in fact 
being subjected to a sort of cross-examination, at which, 
gentle as she was, she felt no small indignation. 

“ You are not my confessor, Margaret. It is not fair to 
try to wring from me my most secret thoughts.” 

“ Humble, patient Isabel, with whom all is as it should 
and ought to be, at least seemingly so, you, too, have some 
aspirations then, for you as good as own such to be the case 
by your evasive answers, and your secrets also, doubtless. 
You arc not intellectual, or imaginative, or talented, or 
8 * 


90 


THE LIMERICK- VETERAN; 


beautiful; you have said as much yourself; therefore it can- 
not vex you for me to lay the case plainly before you, even 
if it should hurt yourself, love. Then, your incomparable 
virtue will no doubt lead you to thank me for enabling you 
to practise humility. The lapse of time, however, will show 
what your lips will not disclose, much as you affect content- 
ment with your lot.” 

“ I do not affect what I do not feel,” said Isabel, rising 
and pressing her hand across her forehead, while tears 
streamed in torrents from her eyes. “ You arc cruel and 
unjust, Margaret, in your intercourse with me.” 

If eyes had power to slay, Isabel would have fallen a vic- 
tim to the hatred of her proud and vindictive Scottish 
foster-sister. 

“ You do affect a happiness you do not feel. You hypo- 
critically impose on Lady St. John and her daughtcr-in-law 
by assuming a virtue you are very far from possessing. But 
it is really beneath me to expostulate or argue with you.” 

As Margaret uttered these words she rose from the low 
ottoman on which she had reclined, and lighting a taper 
from one of the wax candles on the table, she cast a look of 
ineffable disdain on her foster-sister, and swept out of the 
room. 

For a few moments after Margaret’s departure Isabel 
stood as one bewildered, then she sat her down in the place 
her arch-enemy had vacated, and remained for some time 
buried in thought. 

“Is it possible,” she said at length, “ that Margaret has 
discovered my visits to the palace, and that her proud and 
angry feelings are excited because I have a secret of my 
own? Alas! for myself and for him I try to serve, if that 
be the case. That Lady St. John would not approve of 
what I have done is more than likely, and that my lips, 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


91 


sealed as they are to secresy, makes my position yet harder, 
is too true. That I ha.ve been so unhappy as to cross Mar- 
garet in her attachment for Maurice is, I feel convinced, the 
case. I am out of spirits, out of heart, and I fear her very 
much, she is so cruel, so proud, and seems animated with a 
positive ill-feeling towards me. lie will wonder if I do not 
meet him as usual, but I must be very wary now and not 
see him again for some time to come.” 

The wood fire had nearly burned itself out, the white, 
smouldering embers^ilonc remained, when the clock striking 
the hour of midnight roused her from her reverie. 


92 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER XV. 

CAUGHT IN TIIE SNAKE. 

IIREE weeks I have watched her movements 
closely, and she has managed to foil me. I will 
not allow her to escape me to-night,” said Mar- 
garet, as she concealed a hood and cloak in the 
library, the lengthened absence of Isabel from that apart- 
ment one evening leading her to think she should find the 
articles in question useful. 

Margaret had not reckoned wrongfully ; her patience had 
exceeded that of Isabel. 

Three weeks had passed and the young lady, Margaret 
well knew, had not left the chateau, and at last began to 
think her enemy was not on the alert. 

Rut hatred never sleeps, suspicion once aroused never 
slumbers, especially if one wishes to be right in their 
calculations. 

On the night in question, Margaret observed that when the 
clock struck the half hour of five Isabel left the library. 
She, too, quitted it, in order to get her hood and cloak and 
secrete them, as I have already said. 

Rut she did not, after a long, weary watch at the window, 
observe Isabel pass along the valley as before ; but, confi- 
dent that sho had left the chateau, she went to the sleeping 
apartment of the latter and knocked at the door. 

And as she expected, there was no answer ; so she opened 
the door and entered the room, in order to satisfy herself 
that her foster-sister was really absent; 

There was a small inner room, used by Isabel as a sort of 
boudoir, in which she was accustomed to read and work, 
and in order to satisfy herself that sho was not there, as sho 




OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


93 


might have failed to hear the knock at the door of the outer 
room, Margaret crossed through to the boudoir. 

It was vacant. 

The needle-work on which Isabel had been engaged seemed 
to have been hastily thrown on a chair without regard to tho 
neatness which generally led her to fold it up and lay it 
aside till her return, and she was leaving tho boudoir, 
resolved, come what would of her enterprise, to dog her 
steps, when the end of a small three-cornered note, peeping 
out from the leaves of a book in which it had evidently been 
purposely placed, attracted her attention. 

The next moment the note was in the hands of Margaret, 
and unfolding it, she read the following words : 

“ Dearest Isabel : 

“ I beg you, by our common love for each other, not to neglect to 
meet me this evening. Oh ! my love, you know not what I have 
suffered during the time that has elapsed since last we met. I will 
await your coming as usual at tho right angle from the valley, 
where it turns off to the hill. Let me beseech you not to disap- 
point me, my own dear Isabel. 

“ P. S. — As the evenings arc closing in very rapidly, I will bo at 
tho foot of the hill at six o’clock.” 

“Audacious, consummate hypocrite!” said Margaret, 
folding up the note very carefully and returning it, not to 
its former place, but to her own pocket-book, “ I have found 
you out at last, then. Before I have done with you, Lady 
St. John, and her daughter-in-law, too, shall acknowledge 
you the hypocrite I know you to be. You will not dare ask 
for this note, which I will transfer to my own keeping. No 
signature either. All very carefully arranged, no doubt, but 
not carefully enough for me, after all. But now, Mistress 
Isabel, I must be on your track, and quickly too, for you 
have evidently got the start of me by a good twenty 
minutes.” 


94 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


Margaret then hastened to the library, arrayed herself in 
her hood and cloak, and listening, in order to ascertain that 
the domestics were in the servants’ hall, she let herself out, 
in the same way that Isabel had probably done before her, 
through a glass door which led from the breakfast room into 
a large, old-fashioned garden which ran round two sides of 
the chateau. 

The moon was up, but it only shone out at intervals from 
behind a mass of clouds ; but Margaret knew the way well ; 
she could have walked it blindfold ; and passing with a rapid 
step along the green sward, lest her step on the gravel walk 
should attract attention, she quickly found herself at a gate 
which gave egress to the valley. 

Cautiously, but yet swiftly, the damsel wended her way 
till she came to that angle leading up to the hill, mentioned 
in the letter she had read as the place of meeting, and by 
turning a corner of which you could ascend the hill leading 
straight to the Palace of St. Germains. 

Here she paused, convinced that she heard the murmur 
of voices, though she could see no one, and for a few 
moments she was wholly at fault as to what step she should 
next take. She had chosen the shelter of some overhanging 
trees in a thicket that bordered the hillside as a place of 
concealment, and through a sudden break in the clouds, the 
light of the moon, partially obscured though it still was, 
revealed to her the full extent of the road up to the very 
summit of the hill crowned by the palace. 

Within a hundred paces of her place of concealment, 
Margaret distinctly saw approaching towards her her detested 
foster-sister leaning on the arm of a man perhaps some thirty 
years of ago ; he was somewhat negligently attired, but 
after the fashion worn by gentlemen of the period, and had 
rather more of the manner of an Englishman about him 


OK, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


95 


than Frenchman; his personal appearance was prepossess- 
ing; he was well formed, tall of stature, and fair com- 
plexioned. 

Margaret could almost hear the pulsations of her heart 
as she stood, or rather crouched, beneath the sheltering trees 
by the hillside, as gradually, by their nearer approach, the 
voices, hitherto low and indistinct, the murmur of which had 
only reached her, now fell upon her ear loud enough for her 
to distinguish what was said, with the loss of only a word 
or two occasionally. 

“ How much longer will they be absent, Isabel?” 

“I cannot tell you; perhaps a month, perhaps more.” 

“I must not meet them; of that, love, you arc quite 
aware.” 

“ What can I do ? Oh, what can I do ? ” was the reply 
of Isabel, whose voice was evidently choked by her sobs. 
“ My lips are scaled ; a vow is on them which I dare not 
break.” ; 

Then the stranger said something in a very low voice, the 
purport of which did not reach Margaret’s ears ; but what- 
ever it may have been, the anguish of Isabel increased, and 
she beheld her tear from her neck a small gold cross which 
she always wore, and which was adorned with diamonds, the 
gift of the Marshal to herself, and which she placed in the 
hand of her companion, who, passing his arm round her 
waist, laid her head on his shoulder and kissed her brow. 

The two had now reached the bottom of the hill ; one 
movement on the part of Margaret would have betrayed her 
presence, as she thus crouched beneath the underwood, so 
close that by raising her hand she might have touched the 
hem of her foster-sister’s dress. 

“Farewell/’ said the latter, in a voice broken by her 
tears; “ farewell till I can steal from home for another of 


96 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


these nocturnal meetings. Alas, alas ! my path is full of 
difficulties. I cannot desert you; if I did my very heart 
would break ; but what would they think, what would they 
say, if — if” — 

Again Margaret lost the words that followed ; they were 
breathed out in a whisper, as if they might not even be 
uttered aloud, though she knew not any one was at hand to 
catch their sense ; and even that whisper was stifled by her 
sobs. 

“No, fear nothing, my love, my Isabel; fear nothing, 
for you have done no wrong.” 

“ Yes, but virtue may bear the semblance of vice, and 
if”— 

Again a pause. 

“ No harm can or shall befall you. Once let me get to 
England and I will writo to them, but now — at present 
betrayal would ” — 

“Fear not. I will faithfully keep my vow. My lips 
shall never disclose, as I hope for happiness hereafter, tho 
secret you have entrusted to me.” 

“ My own dear Isabel, I know not how to leave you in 
tho state to which I, in my desperation, have reduced you ; 
bear up, love, for my sake. Allow me to accompany you to 
tho garden-gato at the end of the valley.” 

“By no means. I shall be at home in a few minutes. 
Farewell, till we meet again.” 

“ Trust in God, my own love, for yourself, if not for me. 
Time will seem like an age till our next meeting. I will 
write as usual; you know where to look for my letters. 
Adieu, Isabel, once more.” 

A moment and the two had parted. She, swift of foot, 
fled down the valley like an affrighted fawn ; he lingered 
and then wandered on, as if irresolute whether to follow her 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


97 


footsteps or not; but, finally, he retraced his steps and 
wended his way up the hill. 

Then Margaret arose from her painful, half-recumbent 
position, shook tho dank dews from her dress, and pursued 
her homeward way. She did not hasten, however, desiring 
not to tread too quickly in the footsteps of Isabel, yet 
advancing near enough to be at the chateau within two or 
three minutes of Isabel, so as to throw aside her cloak and 
hood and to seat herself, with a book in her hand, as if she 
had not been absent from home, by the time Isabel should 
enter the library. 

“ At length, then, fortune will make me some atonement 
for my outraged feelings, my wounded pride,” said this 
baneful Margaret, as she took her usual seat in tho hugo 
chimney-corner. “To-morrow’s post shall convey to him 
an anonymous letter. As to the Lady St. John and Madame, 
it will be time to enlighten them when they return home. 
IIow dared she 6top between me and him. Was it not 
enough that she should have the advantage of me as far as 
our birth was concerned ? Was I to suffer in every way ? ” 

* ‘ Revenge eats cold,” says a rueful and bitter Eastern 
proverb, fitter for tho children of an Oriental rather than a 
Christian clime ; but the spirit of Margaret harmonized with 
the terrible idea. 

“ Miss Isabel is ill, and has sent me to tell you sho shall 
not come down again to-night, Miss,” said a young girl, 
who entered, followed by a man-servant, bearing a tray on 
which was a cold fowl, together with bread and wine. 

“ Very well, Julie. I shall not want you any more,” 
said Margaret. “You can go to bed when you please. I 
have to write some letters, so do not let me be disturbed.” 

She took her meal alone, and then, with a glitter in her 
cruel eyes, she drew her writing implements before her and 
wrote as follows: 9 


98 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“A friend, who takes the warmest interest in the movements of 
Colonel St. John, implores him to bo on his guard against the 
depraved Isabel Fitzgerald. The young lady is known to be in 
the habit of meeting a stranger, who is perfectly unknown to the 
family by whom she has been adopted, and these meetings have 
been held under the cover of evening at the foot of the hill leading 
to the royal chateau of St. Germains.” 

Tkeso lines were written in a feigned hand, and Margaret 
resolved to post them herself on the following morning. 
Amidst tho fortunes of war, they never reached the hand 
of Maurice. 

There were two lonely watchers in the old chateau that 
night ; one was on her knees whilst the other was writing ; 
her fair hair disordered, her eyes raining tears, she was 
praying to God for strength and patience ; and when she 
laid her head on her pillow, it was for bodily rest indeed, 
but not for sleep ; and when at last, after the cloek had 
struck four, she sank into a disturbed slumber, her dreams 
were but the reflection of her waking thoughts. 

She was again by the hillside with him who had become 
as it were the arbiter of her destiny ; her heart was wrung 
with a tale of sorrow not unminglcd with crime, and again 
her lips registered an oath that she would not betray him. 
Then the vision changed. She was alone in a wild moun- 
tainous country ; beside her was a frightful precipice ; 
beneath she heard the roar of many waters ; above was the 
canopy of heaven, without a single star to illumine it ; 
then she fancied she heard the voice of Margaret, and when 
she looked around, she beheld beside her Maurice ; she felt 
herself about to fall into the abyss, and called on him to 
help her, but lie turned away ; whilst Margaret, extending 
her hand, pushed her into the yawning chasm beneath. 
She started up, awakened by the horror of the dream ; big 
drops of perspiration were standing on her forehead. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


99 


“It is but a dream,” she murmured to herself; but then 
she shuddered, for the dream had but typified her thoughts 
when awake. 

“ I teas so happy till — till — oh, God, help me ! ” she said, 
as if she feared shaping her thoughts in words even to her- 
self. “ Above all else, help me, oh! my merciful Father, 
if they take from me their love. If Margaret should ever 
hold me in her power, if she be ignorant of this dread 
secret, though it may cast a gloom over my own life, it can 
injure me in no possible way; but if she discovers these 
stolen interviews, she, the foster-sister whom I fear, then I 
am indeed lost.” 

Another, too, kept watch — a watch of fiendish exultation 
at the thought that Isabel had some dread secret in her 
keeping not to be breathed even to her best friends. Tho 
tale she had to tell would go woefully against her, even with 
those who loved her most ; for how could she account for 
having formed acquaintance with this strange man ; how for 
being out by herself at night holding meetings by the lonely 
hillside ; how satisfy those whoso notions of female prudence 
and modesty were of the most rigorous description, as she 
had suffered her lips to be sealed by a solemn oath, which 
she had again ratified in the hearing of her arch-enemy. 

Alas ! alas ! in this world, purity, innocenco and worth 
are too often made to bear the penalty of sin. 


100 


TIIE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER XVI. 



A MYSTERY. 

VIL-DOERS grow bold when the lapse of time 
fails to bring detection, and virtue, when for 
some unfortunate reason it at times bears the 
semblance of vice, grows perhaps less nervous 
and sensitive under the course an unhappy train of circum- 
stances may have led it to pursue. 

.The evening deepened as the year wore on, the trees had 
shed their yellow leaves and the dank dews of the Novem- 
ber night fell heavily upon them as they lay in large sod- 
dened heaps in the valley, and the cold of the day had given 
place to a misty haze or fog, which veiled the towers of the 
neighboring palace from view. The old palace was, you 
will remember, situated on the brow of a hill. The Mar- 
shal's chateau was down in the valley, and it had been the 
abode of himself and his lady ever since the happy day on 
which their fortunes had been united. 

From the windows of cither building, glimmering like 
diamonds through the dark and misty night, lights might be 
seen, betokening that, though the royal exiled race of Eng- 
land were no longer sheltered beneath the roof of the palace, 
and that the family of the Marshal were still absent, never- 
theless both the palace on the height and the chateau in the 
valley were alike occupied. 

Through the fog of the November night, a tall and slen- 
der form passes rapidly along, heavy sighs again and again 
breaking the dead stillness that reigned around. Occasion- 
ally, Isabel, for she it is, pauses and listens, fancying her 
steps arc dogged; then she looks around, but can descry 
nothing through the misty night savo the twinkling lights 


101 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

gleaming in the distance on either side, and a sigh of relief 
burst forth. 

“ It was but a false alarm,” says she to herself, “ the echo 
of .my own footsteps mayhap, but so like the steps of a per- 
son close beside mo that I felt almost paralyzed with fear.” 

Her surmises, however, were not incorrect. Her foster- 
sister, bold and courageous as she herself was timid, was 
close behind her, angry at being out in the cold, damp 
night, forgetful that her own evil passions, far above natural 
curiosity, urged her on. 

Unlike her conduct on the former occasion when Marga- 
ret had tracked her steps, Isabel did not pause at the angle 
in the road leading to the hillside, but turned the corner and 
at once ascended the hill. 

There was far more chance now that she might become 
aware of the presence of her female foe than when merely 
in the valley, for the road was broad and straight, and the 
overhanging branches of the trees, shorn as they were of 
their foliage, presented no hiding-place beside which she 
might lurk ; and as it was far from the wishes of the damsel 
that Isabel should discover her proximity to herself, she 
slackened her pace, so as to increase the distance between 
them, yet not so as to stand the faintest chance of losing 
sight of her. 

The hill was a good quarter of a mile in length, and It 
soon became apparent, from the steadfastness with which 
Isabel pursued her way, looking neither to right nor left, 
that she intended walking on till sho reached the top. 

But to Margaret’s intense anxiety and astonishment, 
Isabel did not even then pause, but made her way to the 
very walls of the palace itself; then, indeed, she stood for 
a few moments as if irresolute, but at length gavo three 
distinct raps with her knuckles on a side door opening into 
9 * 


102 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


a court-yard not very far from the principal entrance. In 
the utmost extremity of surprise and bewilderment, beauti- 
ful Margaret remained as it were petrified, wishful to see 
out the last act of the drama, in which, of her own perverse 
will, she was in a manner playing a part. 

Fortunately a recess in the wall, not many paces distant, 
presented a place of concealment, otherwise, when the door 
at which Isabel had knocked should be opened, it was more 
than probable she would have been discovered ; and she now 
drew stealthily aside and stood within the recess, awaiting 
anxiously as to what might follow. 

The damp earth, covered with the last dead leaves of the 
closing year, rendered it the less likely that the sound of her 
footsteps would betray her presence, yet it was evident Isa- 
bel’s quick sense of hearing, rendered yet moro acute by the 
painful circumstances in which she had placed herself, was 
again on the alert, for as the small arched door was opened, 
evidently by some person on the watch to receive her, Mar- 
garet overheard her say : 

“Thanks, good Jacques. I have been terribly fright- 
ened to-night. I have fancied I heard footsteps behind me, 
and even now, whilst I stood waiting at this door, it seemed 
to me that some person was close beside me.” 

As Isabel spoke she entered beneath the arched doorway. 
It was quickly closed, and Margaret could hear in the court- 
yard beyond the receding footsteps of her foster-sister and 
her conductor. 

In no small anger at her plots being for this night foiled, 
she stood for a few moments irresolute as to the step she 
should next take; finally she yielded to her curiosity; she 
was aware that in order to prevent the chance of her tem- 
porary absence being discovered, the visit of Isabel to the 
palace could not be a long one, and she resolved to remain 
at her post and observe if she returned home alone. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


103 


In suspense and fear combined, for, courageous as she 
naturally was, Margaret did feel alarmed, not at all liking 
her lonely position, she nevertheless remained on watch. 
The minutes, however, lagged wearily along, and she 
breathed a sigh of inexpressible relief when, after the lapse 
of half an hour, the sound of footsteps, together with the 
murmur of voices, made her aware that Isabel was about to 
return. In a moment more the door was opened. 

“ Farewell, Jacques,” she distinctly heard her foster- 
sister say. “I will bo here again, then, in three nights 
from the present, unless lie writes to the contrary. He says 
he hopes to embark for England in a week at most.” 

“ I hope so, Madam, if only for your sake, for these visits 
cannot but be full of danger to you. I shall come down the 
hill with you, Madam.” 

“I think not; he seems so ill, you had best return to 
him ; yet everything is so dark and still, and the road down 
the hillside so lonely, that I had best accept your offer ; you 
need not be long absent from him.” 

The next minute the door was closed, and through the 
rapidly-increasing mist, now becoming a heavy fog, Mar- 
garet could faintly discern the figures of her foster-sister 
and her companion as they proceeded, just a few paces in 
advance of her, towards the hillside. Stealing like a thief 
from his lair, the beautiful and crafty woman now cautiously 
emerged from her hiding-place, keeping just a little behind 
the two, and in no small uneasiness at the unforeseen cir- 
cumstance of Isabel having a companion, aware that when 
he should leave her, whether at the foot of the hill or in the 
valley itself, he would be sure to confront herself on his 
return. 

Her ready wit, however, devised a remedy, repugnant as 
she was to adopt the plan. 


104 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


One side of the hill was skirted by a dry ditch, sur- 
mounted by a low bank, separating it from an adjoining 
field. The bed of this ditch was composed of heaps of dank 
leaves, rotting in the mists and damps of November ; could 
she but safely and noiselessly get into the ditch, she could 
in an instant climb the bank and creep stealthily along in the 
field on the other side till the man who accompanied Isabel 
should have returned. 

In no small fear, she accomplished the undertaking with- 
out attracting their attention ; and she commended her pre- 
caution, for at the angle where the road turned into the val- 
ley, those whose steps she was dogging suddenly paused. 

“ No, I forbid you to come any farther,” she heard Isabel 
say. “Once in the valley, and within a stone’s-throw of 
the chateau, I no longer feel timid. It is well for me that 
the nights are dark, or these stolen meetings would long since 
have been discovered, and I pray God, most earnestly, that 
the necessity which lends me to grant them may soon pass 
away.” 

“ Mademoiscllo knows Jacques’ feelings on the subject,” 
replied the man. “ I will now wish you good-night, as you 
do not wish me to conduct you farther.” 

The stranger then took his leave, Isabel swiftly wending 
her Way homewards. Her companion, evidently a man of a 
class inferior to her, lingered for a moment as if half uncer- 
tain whether to disregard her prohibition and follow her in 
spite of it, as he took a few steps down the valley, but 
finally returned. Margaret listened till the sound of his 
retreating footsteps was lost in the distance, and then, issu- 
ing from her place of concealment, she hastened in the 
direction of the chateau. 

With the eagerness of a cat watching its prey, Margaret 
had long regarded all Isabel’s movements with the greatest 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


105 


anxiety; above all, she desired to discover the channel 
through •which her foster-sister maintained this secret cor- 
respondence. 

It had long been Isabel’s custom to go at an early hour 
twice a week to the cottage of a blind and aged woman who 
was one of tho recipients of the bounty of Lady St. John, 
to read to her, talk to her, and comfort her under her trials, 
and Margaret determined to follow her thither the next 
morning, being under the impression that, in some way, this 
woman was worked up with the mystery she was bent on 
unraveling. 

As usual, Isabel started on her customary errand, bearing 
in her hand a small basket containing some little delicacies 
she had put together for the blind woman’s use, whilst Mar- 
garet followed in the distance, reading a book as she walked 
slowly on, in order, should Isabel chance to turn round, that 
she might be able to appear perfectly indifferent, for she 
meant to enter the cottage after her as if by chance, or, 
should fortune favor, to reach the old woman’s unperccived 
by Isabel ; even to play the cavcs-droppcr, could she gain 
the information she sought in no other way. 

To her surprise, however, Isabel did not turn as she 
expected down a road to the right, some distance beyond 
the angle in the valley which branched off to the hillside, 
but made straight towards a thicket bordered with oak and 
chcsnut trees, the overhanging branches of which, interlac- 
ing themselves with those which grew on the other side of 
the road, formed a grove, and offered a pleasant retreat in 
the hot summer days to the inmates of the chateau. Within 
the thicket itself Isabel now turned, and as Margaret stood 
anxiously peering round the angle by the hillside, she could 
hear the crackling of the withered branches as Isabel trod 
them under foot, and then she beheld her pause before an 


106 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


aged oak, put her hand within a yawning chasm in the trunk 
of the tree and draw something forth which she hastily con- 
cealed in her bosom. 

Then she turned quickly away, and retraced her steps till 
she came to the road leading to the blind woman’s cottage. 

Having thus, she was quite convinced, made the discovery 
of what she so much desired to know, Margaret did not 
trouble herself any more about her foster-sister's movements 
that day, but returned home, blithe and gladsome at the 
thought that she had added another most important link to 
the chain of evidence she was so industriously collecting 
together, by which Isabel’s reputation would forever be 
ruined in the eyes of her protectors and of Maurice St. 
John. 

On the same evening on which Margaret had for the 
second time played the spy on the actions of her foster- 
sister, the latter had made a long and fruitless search for 
the note which Margaret had abstracted from the leaves of 
the volume in which Isabel had thoughtlessly placed it. 

Her first duties of the day discharged, she had withdrawn 
to the boudoir which the kindness of Lady St. John had 
assigned to her use, and remembering that she had forgot- 
ten to destroy the letter in question, she opened the book, 
which apparently remained as she had left it, for the pur- 
pose of doing so. 

In a moment she divined her loss, and, mechanically, with 
a pale face and cold and trembling fingers, she turned over 
the leaves again and again with the vain hope of finding it ; 
then, scarce knowing what she was about, sho ransacked all 
possible and impossible places in the narrow range of her 
chamber and boudoir in search of so important a document, 
and at length, after the lapse of two hours, realized the ter- 
rible fact that the letter had been abstracted from the place 
in which she had so incautiously deposited it. 


107 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

It required no great discernment to make her aware that 
Margaret, and none other, had purloined a paper the pos- 
session of which would prove destructive to her character 
even in the eyes of her dearest friends ; and bitterly reproach- 
ing herself for her want of prudence, she endeavored to 
school her features into an expression of calmness she was 
far from feeling interiorly. 

Mingled with the distress, too, which she experienced at 
the loss of this little billet, was the consciousness that, in all 
human probability, every one of her movements had been 
watched; movements, respecting which, those who loved 
her best must, of a necessity, hold her guilty, seeing that 
by a perhaps rash oath her lips were sealed to secrecy. 

On the morning to which I have alluded, when Margaret 
watched her take a letter from the trunk of the old oak, she 
hastened home, after having visited the blind woman, shut 
herself in her room, and perused the note ; it ran as follows : 

“Dearest Isabel: 

“ I write these lines from a sick bed. It is, unfortunately, quite 
impossible for me to return to England, and, in the present junc- 
ture of affairs, and in the danger which would inevitably result to 
me if my whereabouts were discovered, I have accepted the offer of 
my man Jacques and removed to the dwelling of his parents, 
honest people, but very poor, and ill able to afford the attention I 
really require. I am, indeed, so reduced as to be obliged to avail 
myself of the promise you made to come to my assistance, as far as 
you possibly could, when I required help. Jacques will await 
your coming this evening at the customary spot. Do not fail to 
meet him. As you love me, prove yourself true and faithful, my 
beloved Isabel, and convey to my trusty valet whatever help you 
can afford me.” 

For a few moments after the perusal of an epistle which, 
much as she strove to conceal the fact from herself, betrayed 
the cold, calculating spirit of its writer, Isabel sat with her 
eyes still fixed on those lines, and a world of misery in her 


108 THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

gaze ; then she arose, clasped her hands together, and paced 
the room as one laboring under great mental excitement. 

“ Docs he really care for me,” she said, half aloud, “ does 
he really love me as he has protested he docs, and, at tho 
same time, pen a letter which he knows must oauso me pain? 
Alas ! alas ! what shall I do ? I havo expended in six weeks 
tho handsome allowance tho Lady St. John makes me for 
half a year, tho presents of valuable jewelry tho good Mar- 
shal has given me have gone in the same way, perhaps never 
to bo returned to me. What can I do now ? to grant what 
ho asks is torture, and yet I cannot refuse ; and then this 
awful vow which seals my lips, and Margaret, perhaps, 
aware of my stolen meetings. I cannot seek tho good 
Cure, I cannot pour my sorrows in the car of dear old 
Grace; Maurice I never hear from, alas! perhaps ho has 
already learned a lesson of suspicion from Margaret. Oh, 
my God! what shall I do, how shall I bear this trouble?” 
As Isabel uttered the last words, she sank into a seat, and 
burying her face in her hands, sho wept long and bitterly. 

“ It was her gift,” she said, at length, “but, like all that 
has preceded it, it must go, and perhaps I am selfish, per- 
haps I should be glad that, at any personal cost, I can relieve 
his sufferings.” Then opening a small, antique casket, sho 
took from thence a bracelet, richly set with diamonds and 
emeralds, and carefully placing it in a small case, sho took 
up her pen and wrote the following note : 

“I would that I could satisfy tho longing desires of my heart 
and send you sufficient to sustain you under your present misfor- 
tunes, not the least of which is your present illness, for it detains 
you in a spot fraught with danger. Money I havo none, but I 
send you, by the hand of Jacques, tho last and most treasured, of 
the costly baubles the love of my benefactress has bestowed on me, 

and I conjure you, my dear , on no account to part wholly 

with it. It is yours, for the present exigency, only to raise a loan 


109 


OH, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

upon. I repeat the words you said when I gave you the other 
trinkets. I have reserved but those of small value, dreading to 
excito suspicion should I part with all. 

“ I seem to bo tottering on the verge of a precipice, into tho 
depths of which I may be at any moment hurled, and long for the 
moment of your departure from France ; remember, I do not over- 
rate tho trouble which will fall on me should my stolen meetings 
with you be discovered. Such an event is more than possible, as, 
through an act of imprudence on my part, having merely concealed 
it within the leaves of a book, I have lost the last letter you sent 
me. Acknowledge the receipt of this letter and package imme- 
diately. I shall look in the customary place to-morrow for your 
reply. Let me beseech you not to linger in France a moment 
more than is absolutely necessary. 

“Your very affectionate, 

“I. F." 


* 



10 


110 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER XVII. 

N the morning of the following day, whilst Mar- 
garet was yet lingering at the toilet table, Isabel 
hastened to the hollow oak, the repository of 
this most dangerous correspondence, having the 
previous night entrusted her most cherished souvenir, one 
of the many mementoes of Lady St. John’s affection to her- 
self, to the care of Jacques. In the trunk of the tree she 
found, as she expected, a letter, and it being one of the 
days on which it was her wont to visit the blind woman, 
she returned at onco to the chateau, and in the privacy of 
her own apartment she read as follows : 

‘‘I hasten, my beloved , to thank you for the package 

which Jacques has just delivered to me. Do not fear that I shall 
part with your trinket irretrievably ; it will merely remain in the 
custody of a Jew money-lender, residing in Paris, till I am able 
to redeem it. Of course, the little you have it in your power to do 
for me, and my own utter want of funds, is one of the chief causes 
of my remaining in a spot so full of danger. Think, dearest, is it 
absolutely impossible for you to devise some plan by which you 
could onco and for .all obviate this difficulty, and by obtaining for 
mo about one thousand francs once and for all help mo out of my 
dilemma 1 

“The perusal of your letter both grieves and annoys me. It 
grieves me to see how much I distress you, and it annoys me, 
because I cannot divest myself of the idea that you value the pos- 
session of your trinkets so as to feel distressed at allowing me the 
temporary use of them. Let me remind you that sho who loves per- 
fectly knows fear but by name ; fear is known only to selfish souls. 

“The want of funds alone detains me in this detested place 
wherein I am doomed to vegetate against my will. 

“ Keep up your courage. Remember, even should your inter- 
course with me ooze out and injure you in the estimation of those 
with whom you live, your trouble will not last long, only till I 
write you from England. Till then, I charge you to keep sacred 
the promise you have solemnly made before heaven not to reveal 
my name.” 



OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


Ill 


With mingled feelings of fear, indignation and outraged 
love Isabel read and re-read the contents of this precious 
missive. “Selfish, ungrateful,” burst from her lips again 
and again, as her spirit rose at the coolness with which the 
writer treated her fear of discovery, and the evident selfish- 
ness which he exhibited. 

“ Heaven support me, what shall I do?” said she, press- 
ing her hands on her throbbing temples, “oh, this dreadful 
vow wherewith my lips arc sealed ; and yet, were there no 
sin in breaking it, would I dare to speak and have his blood 
upon my soul? Ah, indeed, indeed, there is nothing left 
for me but to suffer and endure.” 

But poor Isabel was no philosopher, nay, she was even 
wanting in the first and most necessary of Christian virtues, 
patience; and now a perfect whirlwind of fear and grief 
swept over her soul, and tears were raining down her face, 
when she was startled by the voice of one whom she ten- 
derly loved at her chamber door, asking admittance. Sym- 
pathy she could not seek, for her lips must be scaled as to 
the cause of her sorrow ; to attempt to conceal her tears was 
equally vain, and she was fain to bid Grace enter, and to 
hope that her old friend would ask no questions. 

“I have such good news, dear child,” said the aged 
dame, as she entered the room and seated herself beside 
Isabel, “ the Marshal and the rest of the family leave Scot- 
land to-morrow. It makes me quite blithe to think they 
will all be back soon. Mr. Edward, too, who has been 
spending some time at Lord Balmerino’s, will come with 
them, so that we shall have quite a merry gathering for 
Christmas ; but, my bonny bird, have you not a word to say 
in return for my good news ? ” and poor old Grace bent her 
eyes, bright as of yore in spite of her years, on Isabel’s tear- 
ful face. 


112 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


There was pity, love and wonderment in that gaze, which 
Isabel did not return, for her eyes were cast down ; she 
answered never a word, but her pallid face and evident con- 
fusion increased the bewilderment of Grace. 

“My dearest and best-loved child, tell your poor old 
friend, who has always loved you as if you were her own, 
what it is that preys on your mind and makes you so 
unhappy ? ” 

“ It is all nothing, dear Grace,” was the reply, and Isabel 
nervously pushed backed the shower of golden curls which 
had fallen on her neck and shoulders, and made an effort to 
drive back the tears from her eyes. “ I am very tristc some- 
times, you know. And so the Lady Florence and Madame 
St. John arc coming back at last?” 

“ But, my dear child, you arc not triste for nothing, con- 
fide in me ; believe me, Isabel, I have grieved to see you 
so sad and dejected ; your step is heavy and your voice is 
still, instead of carolling as blithe as any bird. Arc you 
not glad dear Lady Florence is coming back to us ? ” 

“I should be glad, Grace, should I not?” stammered 
forth Isabel, a deep flush dyeing her face and neck, for well 
she knew that the return of the family to St. Germains, with 
that seal upon her lips, would only increase her unhappiness. 

“ Surely my birdie should be glad; has not my Lady 
Florence been more than a mother to you?” and here Grace 
paused and marveled more than ever at her favorite’s strange 
words and absent manner. 

“IIow many days, think you, will pass before they 
return ? ” 

“ Probably before this day week.” 

“ Less than a week ; that will soon slip away.” 

Grace started at the strange, undefinablc expression which 
flitted across the face of her favorite. She could not divest 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


113 


her mind of tlic idea that, for some hidden cause, Isabel 
regretted the return of the family to the chateau, and a 
shadow passed over her aged face at the thought of the joy 
testified by Margaret, whose face had beamed with pleasure 
when she had told her the contents of the letter she had that 
morning received from Scotland, and contrasted it with the 
sadness and mystery by which Isabel was surrounded. 

“ My bonny birdie,” said the old lady, after a pause, “ you 
have something on your mind, that I can plainly sec, but I 
will not press you into a confidence which, mayhap, should 
be reserved for Lady Florence alone,” and having, for a 
moment, folded her in her arms, Isabel giving vent to a 
weary sigh, she left the room without another word. 

But alone in her chamber, the usually sharp, penetrating 
mind of Grace Wilmot was absorbed in thought. 

“ Strange,” she muttered to herself, “ the dispositions of 
these two damsels seem altogether reversed, she who onco 
was all candor, and good temper and content appears to have 
changed places with Margaret and to have adopted her former 
morose and haughty conduct. I have noticed a change these 
last six weeks and am very glad the family arc coming back ; 
truly, it seems as if a glamour were cast over the girls. Mar- 
garet and Isabel have changed places, for all Margaret’s cold 
and proud reserve has passed away to her foster-sister.” 

Poor old Grace ! how little did she know that Margaret’s 
unbounded joy arose from the exultation she felt that Isabel 
was wholly in her power, that at last Dame Fortune, as she 
said to herself, was making compensation for the miseries 
attendant on her birth, which had thrown her on the bounty 
of the Marshal and his lady, and that the circumstances of 
which she had become acquainted were certain to degrade 
and lower Isabel in the esteem of her friends, and would 
probably end in exactly reversing their positions, for with 
10 * 


114 . THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

such a shadow over her how could she ever become the bride 
of Maurice. 

On the next morning Margaret turned her steps to the 
old oak tree, just half an hour before the time at which Isa- 
bel was in the habit of visiting the blind woman. 

Within a small cavity in the hollow of the tree there was 
a little heap of withered leaves ; she moved them aside — a 
scaled letter lay beneath them. 

She clutched it as greedily as a miser docs his gold, and 
returned home by a circuitous route in order to avoid encoun- 
tering Isabel. As soon as she had reached her own room 
she locked the door, tore open the letter, and read as follows : 

“ Beloved : 

“ I implore you to meet mo to-night without fail. Jacques tells 
me he has heard a certain party are expected home in a few days. 
We must arrange matters for a speedy flight ere that takes place. 

“ Your devoted .” 

Margaret Lindsey’s youthful charms had developed ; she 
was now a superbly beautiful woman ; her handsome face 
was radiant with happiness; her eyes sparkled with the 
delight she really felt when she entered the apartment 
appointed for common use when the young ladies were not 
in their own rooms. 

It was also destined for Grace, but her increasing age and 
infirmities rarely allowed her to leave her own chamber. 

Isabel was already seated, sad and sorrowful, affecting to 
read, but her thoughts wandered far away, and she made a 
faint attempt to reply with spirit when her tormentor 
addressed her with some sarcastic observation, and then 
again relapsed into silence. 

To add to what she had formerly endured, a sharp pang 
seized her heart on finding no letter in the customary place, 
combined with a fear lest she bad been watched and the let- 
ter removed ere she arrived, 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


115 


“I am consumed with ennui, Mrs. Wilmot,” said Mar- 
garet, when Grace entered the apartment. “'Really, Isabel, 
who used to have such a fine flow of spirits, is now so sad 
and taciturn that I cannot get a word out of her. I am 
sure,” she added, with a light, provoking laugh, “the Ladies 
St. John will charge me with having set her a had example, 
seeing they always used to be severe on me for what they 
were pleased to term sullcnness and discontent ; has some 
elfin sprite, think you, changed us in the night? I some- 
times ask myself if I am really Margaret and if she be Isa- 
bel, she has grown so pale, and sad, and silent, and I — well, 
the very tenor of my life is changed ; I feel as happy as a 
little bird.” 

“ Your foster-sister is not well, Miss Margaret. She will 
be as of old when old times return, as they will full soon, 
please God,” said Grace, her keen eyes rivetted on the face 
of Isabel, now ghastly as death, and then flushed to the 
deepest crimson. 

“Old times!” retorted beautiful Margaret, scornfully. 
“ Those old times you allude to, Mistress Wilmot, will 
never return to Isabel or myself. Mayhap I may be the 
gainer by her loss. I may seem to speak in enigmas, but 
time will show, time will show, and” — - 

The proud beauty, with eyes flashing fire, had risen from 
her scat, and was about to leave the room, when her yet 
unfinished speech was brought suddenly to an end by a 
heavy fall. The unfortunate Isabel had sunk senseless on 
the ground. 

It was very long ere sho recovered her senses, and whilst 
nurse and Grace were occupied in endeavoring to restore 
suspended animation, Margaret stood idly by, a cold, sar- 
castic smile on her beautiful lips, a cruel glitter in her eyes 
as she bent them pitilessly on tl>e still unconscious Isabel. 


116 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“My pretty colleen, it is ill she has been of late, sure, 
and it is my Lady Florence who will be setting things right, 
Mistress Wilmot,” said the still buxom and comely wife of 
the worthy Denis. 

“Lady St. John,” retorted Margaret, “ will bo surprised 
at much that has taken place since her departure. It is time 
that Isabel, the favored one of the whole household, should 
be watched by careful eyes.” 

As she spoke, she swept out of the room, leaving Grace 
and nurse at a loss to understand the meaning of her words. 

“ Margaret Lindsey hath an undisciplined heart; she is 
a proud, imperious woman. As she was when a child, this 
poor Isabel has always been the object of her dislike,” said 
Grace. “But sec, she is reviving. Nurse, let us place her 
on the sofa.” 

Pleading illness after her recovery from the swoon into 
which she had fallen, Isabel kept in her own room during 
the rest of the day and that which succeeded it. On the 
morning of the following day she rose as usual, visited the 
blind woman, notwithstanding the entreaties of Grace that 
she would not expose herself to the cold and damp, and on 
her way thither found in the customary place a letter expos- 
tulating with her on account of her silence, and expressing 
astonishment that she had not met tho writer agreeably to 
the request contained in his last. 

“Iain better in health,” thus ran the letter, “ but not 
well enough to travel. I must not incur the slightest chance 
of encountering Maurice, or indeed any of the family. Try 
and help me yet again, and in a very short time I hope to 
be far awa}', and shall be able to releaso you from your 
present obligation of secresy.” 

“ The last time, the very last time,” sighed she to herself, 
after she had read the letter. “Yes, I will leave nothing 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


117 


undone to save him. I have gone too far to recede. One 
meeting more or less matters not. I will look upon his face 
again before nightfall.” 

Thus, when the short winter afternoon had faded away, 
and Margaret had retired to the library, Isabel hastened on 
her ill-advised expedition, and once again stood by the hill- 
side, awaiting the coming of one who was to be her fate. 

One moment she lingers by the hillside, and by the light 
of the moonbeams other eyes than those of Isabel scanned 
the appearance of the stranger narrowly. lie was pale, as 
if recovering from recent illness; he wore his arm in a 
sling ; his features were decidedly handsome, but their 
beauty was marred by a sinister expression. 

“ You arc come then, dearest, to meet me once again,” 
lie said, passing his arm tenderly around her waist, and kiss- 
ing her upturned face. “ I rejoice, my Isabel, for it may 
be the last time for a very long while. And now, love, 
what can you do for me yet more to help me out of the des- 
perate trouble I have fallen into ; above all to help me to 
England, as I have little doubt but that I shall be able to 
get away in a few days.” 

“Alas! alas! I can do nothing beyond that which may 
still help you for the present ; ” and as Isabel spoke the 
wicked eyes which peered through the trees beheld her place 
a very small package in the stranger’s hand. 

“ It was no doubt a trinket,” thought the owner of the 
eyes, for the reply was, as he glanced carelessly, nay scorn- 
fully, at what he had received : 

“ Really, this is child’s play, my love ; some fifty francs 
perchance it may produce from that avaricious old usurer, 
Levi, and the old trouble goes on still and all your woman’s 
gew-gaws parted with. How much better it would be if you 
would but condescend to take the step I advised when I was 


118 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


lying perdu up yonder,” and he pointed with Kis walking- 
stick to the towers of the palace on the brow of the hill ; “I 
could soon have returned you the amount, and both my 
trouble and your own would the sooner be over.” 

With an emotion of horror, Isabel shrank from the stran- 
ger as he spoke those words I have recorded, which had 
failed to reach the curious cars of one who had bent forward 
farther than prudence had warranted. 

“ Never, never,” said Isabel. “ Whatever be the conse- 
quence, I cannot, dare not, take such a step as that.” 

“I see you do not love me, Isabel. Love dares every- 
thing for the object of its affection.” 

“Alas! alas! I would help you more effectually had I 
the means of doing so honorably,” said Isabel, bursting into 
tears. 

“ Some unforeseen help may yet turn up,” said the stran- 
ger, drawing her to him and kissing her. “ When next you 
hear from me, I shall be many miles from this place.” 

But again he paused, and whispered a few words, with an 
expression of entreaty on his handsome face, but she turned 
angrily aside, as if dissenting from some proposal lie had 
made. • 

A grasp of the hand, a parting embrace, and the two sep- 
arated, she, with the flcctness of a fawn, in the direction of 
the chateau, whilst he for a moment lingered, and as the 
bright moonbeams played full on his face, the watcher by 
the hillside could sec an expression akin to contempt on his 
handsome features, as lie gazed after the retreating form of 
his companion ; then lie turned with a loitering step down a 
road leading to the adjacent town of . 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


119 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


BETWEEN NIGIIT AND MORNING. 



STORMY night had succeeded to a day in which 
there had been an incessant down-pour of rain, 
but as the short hours following midnight ad- 
vance J, the weather became calmer, and the 
moon rose at intervals from behind the clouds which still 
drifted across the horizon, occasionally lighting up the 
chambers of the old chateau and again enveloping them in 
obscurity. 

Three days had passed since Isabel’s parting with tho 
stranger. Busy preparations were being made for the return 
of the family, and while Margaret, whose customary indo- 
lence nothing could dispel, frittered away her time, Isabel’s 
lingers were busily employed in sundry matters connected 
with the decoration of the principal apartments in honor of 
the arrival. 

It was to her a labor of .love, and Grace was glad to sec 
that she found a pleasure in the work, though her observant 
eye detected that the smile on the once bright and happy 
countenance was now as fleeting as the sunshine on an April 
day, and that often a weary sigh, half-stifled in its utterance, 
would escape her lips. 

In fact the feelings with which poor Isabel regarded the 
return cf her best friends were rather those of fear than 
pleasure. 

That her movements had been watched by her foster-sister 
she was well aware ; that she had discovered and stolen a 
letter m6ant for herself and abstracted another from the 
book I have alluded to she was quite certain ; and she also 
felt confident that, like a thundcr-cioud bursting over her 


120 THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

head, so would the arrival of those she loved lead to disclo- 
sures which would perhaps deprive her forever of their 
friendship and break off her proposed union with Maurice. 

On the night in question, the mind of the poor girl was 
so harassed, that for a long whilo sleep was banished from 
her pillow. One o’clock had struck before she lost herself 
iu a somewhat heavy sleep, the last sound in her ears that 
of tho rain beating against her casement, mingled with the 
dull sough of tho wind ; the darkness, also, was intense. 

When she was awakened, it was with a sudden start; she 
did not feel as one usually does on opening one’s eyes after 
sleeping, but had a consciousness that she had been dis- 
turbed by some unusual and accidental sound. 

The storm had ceased, a bright flood of silvery light illu- 
mined the chamber, and she heard the clock in the turret 
striko the hour of two. 

She felt alarmed, she knew not why, for all was still, but 
the idea was strong on her mind, ere she was awake enough 
to be fully conscious that some person had made a noise in 
her own room, close even to the head of the bed. 

Trying to think she had been mistaken, she again laid her 
head on her pillow to compose herself to sleep, when a light 
footfall struck upon her ear, and she distinctly heard a sharp 
click, as of a key turning in a lock, very near to her, but 
not in her own apartment. Much alarmed, she rose up in 
the bed and strove to suppress the shriek that was rising to 
her lips. Then she heard a person say, in a whisper : 

“What a confounded mistake ; we had got into the wrong 
room.” 

“We are right now, however,” was the reply, “ and must 
lose no time; though, fortunately, we did not awake her; 
she was too sound asleep for that/ 

The pallor of death was on the face and lips of Isabel, as 


OR, T1IE FOSTER SISTERS. 


121 


with cold hands she gently raised the curtain of her bed and 
looked out in tho corridor beyond, her alarm increasing as 
she found, by the wintry blast which swept across her face, 
that her casement was open, as also the chamber door, which 
gave admittance to the corridor, out of which the principal 
apartments opened. 

Then she hoard the chink of money, and rememboring 
that tho room immediately opposito to her own was that of 
the Lady Florence, and that it contained an antique cabinot, 
in which were articles of groat value, together with a con- 
siderable sum of money, she at once resolved, let come what 
would of peril to herself, to alarnFtho house. 

But fear and horror combined rondered her powerless to 
move, for onoe again struck upon her ear the tones of a voice 
with which of late she had become painfully familiar, and a 
bright ray of moonlight streaming into the corridor and tho 
chamber beyond discovered to her the face of tho stranger 
with whom she had held so many stolen interviews. 

* ‘ To keep silence now is to be a partner in an act of dire 
villainy/’ said she to herself, and springing out of bed she 
rushed into the adjoining room. 

“ For God’s sake, desist,” sho exclaimed, as sho laid her 
cold grasp on tho hands of a man who was employed in 
emptying one of the drawers of a cabinet of a portion of its 
contents. “ Desist, I say, or I will alarm tho houso/’ 

“ Fool, begone ! What is it to you ? ” said tho man, dash- 
ing her hand aside. “Do not lay my blood on your soul; 
for, by all tho saints of heaven, if you utter one word,” he 
added, drawing a pistol from his pocket, * ‘ I will shoot myself 
dead before your eyes.” 

“ Be quick, be quick, Monsieur ; that dog will alarm the 
house, together with this squeamish damsel. Shoot yourself 
indeed! Rather shoot the woman, I should think,” and as 
11 


122 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN ; 


lie spoke the man, who had escaped Isabel’s observation, 
threw his powerful arm around her waist, and effectually 
prevented her from screaming by gagging her mouth. 

She lay powerless in his arms for perhaps five minutes, 
though tho time seemed an age in its duration. The bay of 
the watch-dog kept in the courtyard on tho other sido of tho 
chateau still resounded, she heard footsteps approaching, 
voices sounded in her ear, together with the ringing of tho 
alarm bell, then the strong arms that encircled her relaxed 
their grasp, and she fell senseless on the floor. 

When she recovered she found herself in her own bed, tho 
wintry sun was streaming into the room, and Mrs. Wilmot 
and the nurse were leaning over her. 

She looked around as if she was bewildered, and after a 
pause — 

“ Dear Mistress Grace,” said she, “ I do pray you tell mo 
what has happened ? ” 

“ Could you not tell Mistress Wilmot better than she can 
tell you, foster-sister?” And Margaret came forward from 
the spot at which sho had been stationed, and fixed her keen 
black eyes with a searching glance on the trembling Isabel, 
saying as plainly as eyes could speak : 

“ I know your secret; at least I know enough of it to 
ruin you; me you cannot deceive.” 

“ I pray you remember, Miss Margaret, that your foster- 
sister had had a gag forced into her mouth. The fact of her 
being in the chamber of the Lady Florence showeth nothing 
but that she is courageous beyond the average of her sex,” 
said Grace, supporting on her bosom the head of the unhappy 
Isabel, whose eyes sank beneath the fierce and insidious gaze 
of Margaret. 

Then, after she had wholly recovered, came the recapitu- 
lation of the scene of the previous night, she merely omit- 


123 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

ting to mention the terrible fact that she had many times 
seen and conversed with the principal actor in the present 
outrage. 

But across the mind of the shrewd and amiable Grace shot 
a sentiment of surprise that a young and timid woman, inca- 
pable of the power of resistance, should, of her own accord, 
have left her chamber in the dead hour of the night and have 
placed herself, without any chance of being able to effect 
good, in the power of ruffians such as those who had bur- 
glariously entered the chateau. 

“ Let those believe the tale who will, I will not give cre- 
dence to it,” said Margaret, scornfully and half aloud, as 
she left the room. 

Then Grace acquainted Isabel with the extent of the roh- 
bery, which was far from inconsiderable. _ A large sum of 
money, which Grace knew had been deposited in the cabi- 
net, had been removed, as well as a set of diamonds from a 
casket belonging to Lady Florence; at the same time Grace 
mentioned that several articles of great value had been left 
behind, which must positively have laid under the very hand 
of the robber when he took away the other jewels and the 
money. 

A heavy load lay at the heart of this aged woman as she 
gazed on the sad, altered face of her favorite, and vainly 
strove to account in her own mind for much that had long 
been inexplicable in the conduct of the once frank and light- 
hearted Isabel, whose confidence she found herself quite 
unable to obtain ; and, at the same time, she felt assured that 
Margaret was acquainted with much that would be brought 
to light when the Marshal and his family arrived home. 


124 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 



CHAPTER XIX. 

MISGIVINGS. 

ATIIER unfortunate matters to herald our re- 
turn,” said Madame St. John, the morning after 
the return of the family to their home, “the 
murder of Count dc Foix, the bosom friend of 
Maurice and the King’s favorite, and the robbery of some 
of your most costly jewels, Lady Florence.” 

“That robbery is, to say the least, inexplicable,” was 
the reply, “so much that was valuable left untouched, at 
tho same timo, leads me to believe that it was no common 
thief who invaded our dwelling.” 

As tho lady spoke, she involuntarily raised her eyes to 
the oountonance of Isabel ; it was deadly pale. 

Leaning against the window stood Margaret, bravely beau- 
tiful ; her morning dress of primrose-colored paduasoy, with 
apron of flowered lawn, set off her slender figure, and as Lady 
Florence Bpoke, she, too, fixed her gaze on Isabel’s pale face. 

1 ' The King has ordered strict search to be mado for the 
man who killed De Foix, but, hitherto, without avail,” 
observed tho Marshal. “I will set tho emissaries of justice 
to find, if possible, the men who have committed this rob- 
bery, perhaps, also, without success. Maurice will keenly 
feel tho death of De Foix, slain, one may say, in cold blood. 
I havo small hopes myself, after the lapse of nearly two 
months, that tho murderer will be found.” 

In accordance with the desire of Lady St. John, Isabel, 
pale and trembling, prepared to leave home on a mission of 
charity. During tho early part of this, the first day of her 
return home, Grace had been closeted more than an hour 
with Lady Florence, and had given her a faithful account 



OK, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


125 


of all those circumstances which had appeared inexplicable 
respecting the conduct of Isabel, ever putting a favorable 
construction, when possible, on her actions, but acknowledg- 
ing that the whole tenor of her life and disposition seemed 
absolutely changed. 

A wall of separation, in fact, seemed suddenly to _ave 
sprung up between three loving natures. If Grace was at 
fault, thought Lady Florence, how could she herself hope 
to penetrate through the mystery, unless by the full and 
entire confidence which had been denied to the former ? 

Isabel was scarce out of sight when her foster-sister 
requested the favor of a private interview. The bold bear- 
ing of Margaret denoted that she was conscious of the dread 
power she possessed, but, with all the cunning of her char- 
acter, aware of the love with which Lady Florence regarded 
Isabel, she approached the topic of her misdeeds with much 
caution and many expressions of heartfelt sorrow that she 
was the person whose painful duty it was to disclose tho 
failings of her foster-sister. 

“ Do not speak in enigmas, Margaret, to the point at 
once ; if any matters have come to your knowledge, which 
your conscience tells you it is right that I should know, dis- 
close them, young Mistress, without hesitation.” 

Then Margaret detailed those circumstances of which you 
arc aware, glossing over her espionage of Isabel, under the 
specious pretext of a friendly solicitude. The occasions on 
which she had so sedulously tracked the steps of the unfor- 
tunate girl were mentioned, and the stolen letters, which 
were irrefragable points in her evidence, were produced, 
and Margaret ended her strange story with the remark, that 
there were sufficient reasons for suspecting that one of the 
men who had broken into the chateau was none other than 
the persou with whom her rash foster-sister had connected 
herself. 11* 


126 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN J 


The Lady Florence heard the long recital with feelings of 
poignant sorrow. She doubted not the truth of Margaret’s 
words ; she felt they were, alas ! too truly verified by the 
letters which lay before her ; but well she divined the feel- 
ings which had led her to dog her foster-sister’s steps, and, 
a r tcr a long pause, she remarked : 

“And pray, Mistress Margaret, why did you not confide 
from the first in my friend, Mrs. Wilmot, a person, from 
her age and experience, fitted to guide you both? I like 
not the idea that you should have stolen forth to dog this 
misguided girl’s steps, on dark winter evenings, unattended 
by a servant ; you, yourself, Margaret Lindsey, arc sorely 
to blame.” 

Then, ringing a small silver bell that stood beside her, 
the Lady summoned Grace Wilmot to her presence. 

“ Grace, my dear friend,” said she, when the latter made 
her appearance, “strange things have been done in our 
absence ; repeat your talc, Mistress Margaret, and much I 
wish you had laid open your heart to my friend ere matters 
had gone this far.” 

“I deemed I was acting wisely, Madam, in not even 
bestowing my confidence on Miss Wilmot,” replied tho bold 
beauty, in a tone of voice that savored strongly of contempt; 
“ sho would doubtless have forbidden me to follow the course 
I pursued, but for which the mark of superior virtue would 
never have been stripped from my false foster-sister.” 

“ I asked you not for your reasons, young Mistress,” 
exclaimed the Lady, angrily; “I can well surmise what 
you wished ; your own conduct, understand, has in no way 
pleased me.” 

“ In that I am most unhappy, Madam,” replied Margaret, 
bowing with a mock humility; “your Ladyship loved this 
Isabel, and as it is unhappily myself, not the favored one* 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 127 

whose lot it is to make manifest her guilt, I am doomed to 
bear your anger.” 

.“Silence! maiden, and repeat to Mistress Wilmot what 
you have told myself,” and the Lady rose and approached 
a window, which commanded a view of the valley beneath, 
for the purpose of concealing the tears which would rush to 
her eyes in spite of her efforts to restrain them. 

She could just descry the form of her once beloved Isabel 
walking, with a weary step, towards the chateau. She 
appeared utterly and entirely changed ; her step had lost 
the elasticity of youth, her eye its brightness, her check its 
healthful glow. 

Grace never once interrupted the beautiful speaker in her 
long recital, but when Margaret had concluded, she said, 
gravely : 

“Time will explain this mystery. I have a firm belief, 
Madam, in spite of the terrible lines Mistress Margaret has 
placed before me, in tho spotless innocence of Isabel ; but 
had Grace Wilmot been some years younger and less infirm 
than she is, neither of your protegees, Lady Florence, had 
crossed the threshold of the chateau after the fall of evening.” 

“ Give to me those letters, Margaret, and leave the room,” 
Baid Lady Florenco. 

Then she begged of Grace to send Madame to her, to 
whom she detailed the startling revelations of Margaret 
Lindsey. 

Madame St. John possessed a clear head and a good heart, 
but she was staggered, nevertheless, in belief as to Isabel’s 
innocence, and mentally rejoiced that the love dream of her 
son had not ended in an irretrievable entanglement before 
these events occurred. 

Lady Florence was resolved not to let the day pass with- 
out a private interview with Isabel, whom she sent for later 
in the day. 


128 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


It is often said that the innocent have no cause for fear, 
but be it remembered that in this ease the actions of Isabel, 
whatever the motives might have been from which those 
actions sprung, appeared in all the semblance of guilt, and, 
with pallid face and trembling limbs, she approached the 
Lady Florence, whom she had always tenderly loved, and 
drawing a small ottoman to the Lady’s side, she sat herself 
down at her feet, and raising her deep blue eyes, humid with 
tears, she fixed them on her face as if in deprecation of her 
just anger. 

For a moment neither of the two spoke ; then said Lady 
Florence : 

“My dearest Isabel, on whom I have bestowed a mother’s 
fondest love, for you have filled up the void in my heart 
caused by the death of my own beloved daughter, a strange, 
wild talc hath reached my cars. I try not to give credence 
to it; at least, I feel assured, that whatever there may be 
of seeming guilt in your conduct, you, my best beloved 
child, can explain away. Know you this handwriting?” 

As the Lady spoke, she laid before Isabel the letters Mar- 
garet had purloined, looking pityingly down the while upon 
the pale and almost frightened upturned face before her. 

“Alas! alas! I do,” she said, “those letters were stolen 
from me by my foster-sister, I believe.” 

“My child, my Isabel, place your entire confidence in 
myself, your best and truest friend ; I ask only this, I will 
repeat to you what I have heard and await your refutation 
of the charges laid against you.” 

Then the Lady Florence repeated the story of Margaret, 
wishing, oh ! how vainly, that she could see a flush of honest 
indignation mantle the check of her favorite ; but no. Tor- 
rents of tears coursed down her checks, and ever, ever, to 
the interrogatories of Lady Florence, was such and such an 
assertion true ? the fair head was bent in token of assent. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


129 


“And now, my child, the name of this stranger, the pur- 
pose of your meeting, the manner of your first acquaintance 
with him ; tell me all.” 

“ Gracious Madam, oh, would that I could, but a solemn 
vow has sealed my lips to silence. Bear with me yet awhile, 
dear Lady Florence ; believe me most innocent, whilst I 
needs must seem most guilty.” 

“A vow! an oath of secresy! who could have had such 
influence over you as to bind your lips to silence ? Bethink 
you, my child, of the position in which you stand ; those 
letters before you, will you not explain ? words which must 
condemn you, Isabel, in the minds of others, if not of myself. 
The night of the robbery, too, when you, a young, defence- 
less maiden, were known to have left your chamber; your 
jewels given away, the souvenirs my love hath bestowed 
upon you. Ah! Isabel, my child, heed not this rash vow, 
but tell mo all ; a direful change hath wrought upon you 
since we parted.” 

Isabel rose from her scat and threw herself on her knees 
before the Lady Florence. 

“ Gracious Madam,” said sho, with now tearless eyes, but 
her countenance marked with the deepest sorrow, “ my heart 
is nigh broken with grief ; on my bended knees I can but 
implore you to bear with me still ; to try and believe that 
in thought, word, and action I am innocent and pure; to 
pray that tho merciful God may, ere long, so order events 
that I may bo suffered to explain away tho mystery which 
now surrounds me.” 

“Alas! alas! Isabel, my child, the strangeness of your 
conduct passes my comprehension,” said tho gentle Lady, 
“but be it so; I will think the best myself, and do all in 
my power to lead others to do tho same.” 

“Ah, Madam, dearest Madam, may God bless you for 


130 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


those loving words,” and Isabel fixed on Lady Florence a 
gaze in which the extreme of sorrow was combined with 
love and despair. Then she said, in a low voice : 

“ I would ask a boon, dear Lady Florence, if one in so 
unhappy a plight dare, indeed, make a petition.” 

“ Speak on, Isabel.” 

“ I am so very miserable as to be an object of distrust to 
those around me ; let me shrink away, as it were, from the 
notice of others, till it shall please God to end my trial. 
Will you, dearest Madam, allow me to seek only the com- 
panionship of Mistress Wilmot, that wise and good woman, 
who, seeing all things tell against me, with yourself, dear 
Lady Florence, hopes that I am still innocent?” 

“No, Isabel; to allow such a proceeding would tacitly 
amount to a belief in your guilt. The Marshal would not 
allow such a step, nor would Madame St. John.” 

“Ah, Madam, you aro all so good that you will fain 
believe me innocent, and not the wretch, dead to gratitude 
and virtue, which an unhappy line of circumstances makes 
me seem to be; but there is one whom I fear so much, who 
has no right or power over me, yet I dread her sarcasm, 
her insinuations, her hatred — in one word, I fear my foster- 
sister.” 

“Your foster-sister, indeed; but / will seo that she pre- 
sumeth not to become your judge,” and the spirit of the 
O’Neills betrayed itself in the Lady’s kindling eyes and 
flushed cheeks, as she spoke, and ringing her bell, she 
directed that Mistress Lindsey should attend her imme- 
diately. 

Isabel had again resumed her first position beside Lady 
Florence, and her face, turned towards Margaret as she 
entered, betrayed the grief she felt. Tho bold beauty, 
nothing abashed by Lady Florence’s lato rebuke, swept 


131 


OH, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 

past tho unhappy girl with a cold superciliousness which 
did not escape her observation. 

“Come hither, Mistress Margaret,” she exclaimed, in a 
tone and manner which evinced displeasuro ; “1 wish you 
to know that it is our will and pleasure that no allusion is 
made to your foster-sister concerning past events. Time, 
which often brings to light much that is hard to understand, 
will, I feel convinced, unravel all that is now hard to recon- 
cile with the innocence of Isabel, save her want of discretion. 
I have no more to say to you, save to command you to square 
your conduct accordingly.” 

“ Isabel has much cause to be thankful, Madam, for your 
leniency of judgment. There are few who would regard her 
as innocent with such conclusive proofs against her.” 

The vindictive expression of her features did not escape 
Lady Florence. She had hoped to behold Isabel deprived 
of tho protection of her friends with every mark of con- 
tumely and scorn. 

“Begone! maiden, this instant, and try to learn that 
mercy you so sorely need. Do not presume to bandy words 
with me again, and reserve your opinion till it is asked 
for.” 

Humbled and silenced, but swelling with anger, Mar- 
garet curtsied to the Lady and left tho chamber. For a few 
moments tho latter remained silent, and a weary expression 
sat on the handsome features which still retained, in a strik- 
ing degree, traces of their former exquisite beauty; then, 
bending forward, she kissed as lovingly as of old the brow 
of Isabel. 

“ Now go,” said she, “ and seek my friend Grace. I 
will acquaint the Marshal with my determination respecting 
you. I have a firm hope that the day may yet come, mys- 
terious as is your present conduct, when this wretched bus- 


132 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


iness will be cleared up, and show that you have never been 
unworthy of my trusting love.” 

“ Dearest, best of friends, may God desert mo in my hour 
of utmost need if I ever forget the mercy you have shown 
me,” and raising the Lady’s hand to her lips Isabel covered 
it with tears and kisses, and then hastened to her room. 



OK, TIIE FOSTER SISTEBS. 


133 


CHAPTER XX. 



GONE. 

|AYE a visit at stated intervals to families of note 
residing in Paris, such as that of the Baron do 
Breteul, thero was no change in the homo life 
of the Marshal’s family, and, as far as might he 
possible, the late painful episode in the life of Isabel was 
hushed up. 

The enjoyment experienced by Margaret at tho supposed 
defection of her foster-sister was not of long duration. She 
had hoped to have seen her fall for ever in tho lovo and 
esteem of those who had adopted her, and driven with scorn 
and contumely from her homo. But had sho really been as 
guilty as Margaret desired sho should be, her sin could not 
have been visited on her head with greater soverity than it 
was by others who, with the proneness of poor human nature 
to look on the black side of things, had received as gospel 
truth Margaret’s narration, so that in a few months, not- 
withstanding the circumspection of Lady Florence, the char- 
acter of Isabel was done to death. The misfortune of the 
whole affair consisted in Isabel’s refusal to make, what is 
termed, a clean breast of it, and declare tho whole truth 
from beginning to end. She had persisted in keeping silenco 
at all risks and hazard to herself, and after the first painful 
interview, Lady Florence had never recurred to the subject. 

Whether in the quiet reunions with the few Jacobite fam- 
ilies living in the neighborhood of St. Germains, or during 
the few months of the year more gaily spent in Paris, it was 
equally the same ; a certain restraint marked the intercourse 
of others with the unfortunate Isabel, and rapidly it was 
exchanged for a cold and cutting neglect. 

12 


134 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


During many months she looked long and anxiously for a 
letter which never came ; that hope had alone supported her, 
combined with the matchless love of Lady Florence ; it grew 
fainter and fainter as time passed on. Twice the winter 
snows had fallen since the fatal evening on which she had 
pledged herself to sccresy, and yet not a word, not a token 
that she was remembered ; so that ever and again she asked 
herself, had he escaped the hands of justice? was he still 
alive ? would the hour of her own death come and the sha- 
dow still hang over her? could she say who had committed 
the theft unless restitution was made ? 

She had herself, in a letter blistered with her tears, released 
Maurice of the troth he had plighted to her, and her mind 
then became absorbed with one idea, which she hastened to 
carry into execution. 

Early one morning, when the family assembled at break- 
fast, she was absent. 

The chateau and its immediate neighborhood were searched 
without avail, and Margaret was nothing loth to hint that 
perchance the unknown had again appeared upon the scene 
and spirited her foster-sister away altogether. 

All doubt, however, was soon at an end by Lady Florence 
receiving a letter, a few hours later, couched in the follow- 
ing words : 

“Forgive me, beloved Madam, for the unauthorized step that I 
have taken in absenting myself from my beloved homo without a 
formal adieu to those to whom I owe far more than words can 
express. 

“ I have borne with coldness and constraint on the part of others, 
because I have hoped that very long ere this he who bound mo to 
silence would have released me from my vow. Hope has at last 
died out, and I have resolved to retire into the most utter religious 
seclusion till, by the mercy of God, the shadow that has fallen on 
my reputation shall be cleared away. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


135 


“I Lave fled no farther, most beloved friend, than the abbey 
wherein you placed me to be educated. I have besought the good 
nuns to allow me to pass my time in teaching their pupils, so that 
I may not feel myself a burthen on their charity. 

“Trusting that the day may yet come in which, under happier 
circumstances, I may present myself before you, 

“I am, dearest Madam, your very affectionate 

“ Isabel Fitzgerald.” 

Much as the members of Lhe Marshal’s family regretted 
the step Isabel had taken, they felt but little surprise after 
the first shock caused by her flight had passed away. As to 
Margaret, she could with difficulty restrain her joy. It was 
now quite possible that Maurice St. John might no longer 
be proof against her fascinations. But, though the field 
was apparently clear, though the beautiful, unscrupulous 
Margaret had now no rival, she was not a whit nearer the 
end to gain which she had so basely planned and plotted, 
for Maurice, at best, was but coldly civil. 

At length the weary tedium of her discontented life was 
broken by the news that she was to accompany the family to 
Edinburgh, and with unspeakable joy she made the prepar- 
ations for her journey. 

‘‘Farewell, odious old chateau,” said she, apostrophizing 
the quaint old home which had sheltered her infancy. 1 
“ Farewell, for a time at least. If ever change of scene 
and change of persons were anxiously desired it is by me. 
And what care I for his neglect?” she added, with an 
expression of contempt on her handsome face. “ My 
beauty may attract admirers elsewhere even if it has passed 
neglected here.” 






136 


TIIE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER XXI. 

TIIE OLD HOUSE IN TIIE EDINBURGH CLOSE. 

HE Wynds and Closes of the now old town of 
Edinburgh, with their great tall houses oi 
gray stone eight, ten, and even twelve stories 
high, crowned in the distance by that grand 
old castle, the relic of former days, standing on (he sum- 
mit of a precipitous rock, at once arrested . Margaret’s 
attention. 

Little indeed did the beautiful and haughty woman ken, as 
the Marshal’s cumbrous equipage wound its way up the High 
Street, that in that portion denominated the Lawn-Market 
her grandsirc had kept his woolen and linen store, or she 
would almost have wished herself back again in France. 

In one of those old Closes wherein the houses arc so very 
near each other that they almost shut out the blue sky and 
the free air of heaven, now sinking into decay and ruin, but 
in the year 1735 places of fashionable resort, as their names 
bear witness, the Marshal had engaged a portion of a spa- 
cious Flat for the use of his family during their sojourn in 
Edinburgh. The best rooms were situated at the back of 
the house, and they overlooked a pleasant garden, quaintly 
laid out with patches of green turf, gravel walks, and leafy 
trees, between the branches of which you might catch a 
glimpse of the castle, frowning grandly on the scene beneath. 

The attendants on the Marshal’s family were principally 
the wife and daughter of the landlord of the Flat in ques- 
tion; the one a homely middle-aged woman, the youngei 
was good-looking, and was reserved, quiet, and staid in her 
demeanor; there was also one serving-maid, whose office 
appeared mainly limited to keeping the rooms cleanly and in 
good order. The younger woman, Janet, particularly 



OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


137 


pleased the ladies upon whom she waited. She appeared to 
be the presiding genius of the very comfortable and homelike 
lodgings into which, for some six weeks, they were located. 

A man far advanced in life particularly excited the risi- 
ble faculties of Margaret, who, from her chamber window, 
was in the habit of looking down into the garden beneath, 
in which he usually took his seat for many hours on the 
bright summer days, his bald head covered with a flannel 
night-cap, and his bent frame swathed in a large plaid ; and 
from thence she not unfrequently heard him rating soundly 
at the women of his household, or reading the Bible in a 
clear, sonorous voice for their edification. 

That he ever intruded himself into the portion of the Flat 
his lodgers had engaged they were not aware ; but one morn- 
ing when the sun was shining brightly on the castle walls in 
the distance, with its green slopes and frowning mass of 
rock beneath, and idle Margaret not yet out of her bed, she 
amused herself by listening to the following colloquy whilst 
an adjoining room was being cleaned : 

“ Dinna glower at me in sic a fashion, woman. I dinna 
care wha the folks are, I’ll not gic plack o’ my savings for 
my chield to become a lazy limmer.” 

“ They be Lraw people,” was the reply, “ and the young 
leddy thinks much o’ hersel and gies mickle trouble. Janet 
does na ken how to do sic wark.” 

“ Haud thy clavers, woman. All the siller I hae saved 
will be Janet’s when I dec. I let her hae anc taw pie to 
help, and she maun do her best, or I sail turn my back upon 
her as ye ken, gudewife, I hae dune before. You had it 
your ain way years agonc, I working hard and you and your 
bairn hauding your heads as high as any o’ the leddies o’ the 
land ; and now that the Lord sees fit some o’ my siller and 
gowd suld pass frae me, and 1 canna let you ruffle your 
plumes as the wife and chield of a rich trader, and now you 


138 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


hac only to come back to the same point at whilk you started 
when I made you my wife, but you make sic a clavers about 
my ears as never was beard before.” 

“ But, Davie, mon, I could put up wi all, an I didna ken 
you had muckle siller, still, an you were really a poor mon, 
Davie, I ”— 

“ I tell you, gudewife, I hae not a bawbee to spare, and 
you maun tell Janet as soon as you list, if she wanna be 
blithe and happy, then she maun flit, as anc as gude or bet- 
ter than she had to do lang sync.” 

Then there was a pause, and Margaret heard the old man 
shuffle down the long gallery without to his own portion of 
the Flat, and a little later came the light step of Janet, fol- 
lowed by that of the servant-maid. 

“0, mither, mithcr,” she heard the former distinctly say, 
though she spoke in an undertone, as if she feared she should 
be heard, “ I hope the fine folks have na heard my father’s 
din. He hac sent me and Marion to help you.” 

“I am just sick of my life,” was the reply. “ Your 
father’s a miser, Janet. He is saving his siller and making 
us warlc like horses.” 

“Sic an awfu’ temper the gudemon hao got,” said the 
handmaiden. “He is amaist daft the morn, dcavinjr anc 
wi his clavers. To speak amang oursels, were I in your 
shoon, the gudemon suldna male me wark. I’d be as braw 
a leddy as ony i’ the land, instead o’ waitiu on ithers.” 

The answer, whatever it might have been, was lost on 
eaves-dropping Margaret, beyond the careful “Whisht, 
lassie, the folks may hear you ” of the old man’s wife, who 
gently closed the door as she spoke. 

It was not in the nature of proud Margaret to be courte- 
ous and affable to those whom she considered beneath her- 
self, and the humble Janet had suffered from her supercili- 
ousness from the moment she entered the house. 


OR, THE POSTER SISTERS. 


139 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 

UDE guide us, what do I see?” said Janet, 
starting back, and giving utterance to a loud 
shriek. 

“ Ilout na, Miss Janet, dinna ye skrcigh 
like that. Ye hac gicn me sic a fright. Wha is in that 
wee bit o’ locket to gar ye turn so pale ? ” 

Thus spoke the maid as, on one bright morning, she stood 
beside Margaret Lindsey’s toilet-table earnestly regarding 
Janet, who, busily employed in the task of putting away 
sundry articles prior to the chamber being cleaned, had 
taken up, amongst other trinkets, the locket which that 
young lady’s dead mother had hung round her neck, and 
which, rarely laid aside, had been on this identical morning 
forgotten. 

With parted lips and eyes rivetted on the tiny miniature 
contained in the locket, Janet remained for a few moments 
silent; then, without answering the girl, she rushed like 
one demented along the gallery leading to her father’s room. 
And speaking never a word when she entered, she went to 
the antique mantel-piece and took down from thence a very 
small, but finely executed portrait. She stood for a moment 
silently comparing it with the miniature in the locket; the 
one was a perfect fac-similc of the other. 

Her father gazed at her in mute astonishment. 

“ Art thou ganging clanc daft ? Janet, wha’s the matter 
wi ye ?” 

“ Father, father,’* and Janet crept round to the old man’s 
side, “I can bring you comfort. Look here, tell me whoso 
portrait is this?” 



140 


THE LTMERICIC VETERAN; 


“ Janet, you are worse than silly, for you open an old 
sore. Have I not often told you it is the portrait of your 
half-sister Margaret, whom I druv from heart and hamc, 
and whose bairn, may the Lord forgic me, I turned adrift? ” 

As the old man spoke his hands trembled and his face 
grew pale. 

“ Look, father, look at this!” and Janet showed him the 
locket. “It has upon its back the name of Margaret 
Graham ! ” 

The old man pushed back the white locks which strayed 
over his forehead, on which a damp dew had gathered. 

“Margaret! Margaret!” he twice repeated, and then, 
putting on his glasses, lie gazed intently, first on one, and 
then on the other. 

“ Gudc Lord! Thy ways are sac wonderfu’ ways,” said 
lie, with head bowed down, and in tones of the deepest emo- 
tion. “ Tell me, lassie, frae where did ye get this locket?” 

“ It belongs to the fine young leddy whom they ca’ Mar- 
garet ; she whom we thought was the Marshal’s daughter, 
father ;” and there was a slight touch of sarcasm in the tones 
of Janet’s voice. “ The maid told me she was no relation 
to him or to the ladies. Wha if she be my ain long-lost 
tiltic, father?” 

“ Silly lassie, she wad be auld enough to be thy mithcr. 
But the Lord can bring light out o’ darkness. Wha if she 
be the bairn whom I in ray wicked fury turned adrift ? ” 

Again his face grew white with a ghastly pallor, and his 
long, withered fingers trembled as he placed one hand on his 
heart and with the other strove to steady himself as he 
grasped his daughter’s arm. 

Then he tore off the flannel cap which disfigured his head 
and called hastily for his coat and walking-stick; his whole 
manner was marked by extremo nervous agitation. 


OK, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


141 


With somewhat of alarm, his wife and daughter — the 
former having just entered the room — watched his move- 
ments; but their anxiety increased when they found lie was 
about to proceed to the apartments of Lady Florence, the 
Marshal having been for some days absent in a distant part 
of Scotland. 

Janet and her mother did their best to detain him, but 
without effect. 

“ Ilaud your clavcrs, gudewife,” said lie, “ I hac found 
again the bairn I turned adrift.” 

He left the room, and when he had nearly reached Lady 
Florence's apartments he suddenly paused. 

“ Gang awa quickly, lassie, and ask the leddy to gic me 
speech a few minutes. Is my bairn — is the young leddy 
frae hame ? ” 

“Yes, father, Lady Florence is alone.” 

Her heart beating more wildly than usual, Janet left her 
father alone, and with a tremor in her voice beyond her 
power to control, she enquired if her ‘ ‘ Leddyship ” would let 
her father have the honor of a few moments conversation. 

Somewhat surprised, for but that the old man was the butt 
of Margaret’s ridicule, Lady Florence had not known there 
was such a person in existence, as the apartments had been 
taken from his wife. She signified her acquiescence, and in 
no small wonderment awaited the coming of her visitor, 
whose feeble steps and panting breath she heard as he 
approached her room. 

The Lady Florence was now advancing into years, but 
time seemed chary of leaving his usual trace on her still 
fair, unwrinkled brow, and like another Ninon, the charms 
of her youth had survived tho hand of time. 

Introduced by his daughter, the old man stood for a 
moment at tho entrance of tho apartment nervous and irres- 


142 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN ; 


olute, one trembling hand grasping the stick, the other 
clutching the miniature Janet had discovered, together with 
the portrait, both of which had been taken at the same time, 
and were each the production of the same artist. 

‘•My father, my Leddy,” stammered out poor Janet, as 
she tried to lead him further into the room. 

“Come hither, my good Janet, and tell me what your 
father wishes,” said the lady good-naturedly. 

But Janet did not heed her words. 

“ Come, father, come,” said she, in the tone in which one 
would address a little child; “ what do you wish to say to 
Lady Florence ; do you not see she is waiting for you to 
speak ? ” 

Then the old man hobbled forward, leaning on his stick ; 
lie approached the table at which the Lady was seated, 
looked at her as if she could inspire him with the words for 
which he felt at a loss, and then placed side by side, before 
her wondering eyes, the portrait and the miniature. 

“ Pardon the trouble an old man gives you, my Leddy,” 
he faltered out, “but look, and tell me, Madam, arc not 
both these alike ? ” 

In his nervous agitation he no longer spoke his Scottish 
dialect. 

“Undoubtedly,” was the reply, in a tone of unfeigned 
surprise, for Lady Florence at once recognized Margaret’s 
locket. 

“Alack-a-day, Madam ! alack-a-day ! that I should stand 
in your honorable presence and be obliged to own that I 
turned from my home and from my heart the child of whom 
I had those portraits taken.” 

Here a low sob choked the old man’s utterance, and Lady 
Florence felt as one spell-bound at the revelation which was 
bursting upon her. 


OR, T1IE FOSTER SISTERS. 143 

Wishful to help him, if possible, she said, pointing to the 
locket : 

"A miniature, like that, is worn by the young lady who 
lives with me, and whom I adopted when an infant.” 

“It is the same, my Lady,” replied Janet; “surprised 
at recognizing my half-sister’s likeness, led me to take the 
locket from the toilet table to show it to my father.” 

“Ah! Madam, Madam, pity me for the shame I feel,” 
burst forth the old man, “I turned my Margaret’s bairn 
from the door even as I had driven forth its mother, and I 
have toiled, and wept, and prayed in hopes that the Lord 
would sooner or later restore her to me, and that day has at 
last come, Madam.” 

“ We shall see, we shall sec,” said the Lady, lost in a 
maze of the wildest conjecture. The meeting with this old 
man had been so sudden, the revelation so startling, and 
then came the remembrance of the proud and haughty dis- 
position of Margaret ; this very old man had been the object 
of her ill-timed ridicule ; his simple-minded daughter, in 
her eyes, had been as less than nothing. 

“Yes,” he rambled on, in a low voice, speaking rather 
to himself than to the Lady Florence, “by night and by 
day, for mony a year, I hac never ceased to pray that the 
Lord would send back her bairn to me ; holy be His name ! 
He hath seen fit to grant my prayer before He calleth me 
frae the world.” 

At this moment, the quick car of Janet caught the sound 
of voices in the gallery. 

“ I wish I could have seen Margaret alone before she 
hears this startling revelation,” thought Lady Florence, 
and, at the same moment, Janet observed, with a glance of 
pity at his pale face : 

“ My father is much excited, Madam. I wish he would 


144 THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

leave you, my Loddy, to break out the truth to — to his 
grand-daughter.” 

13ut thero was no time to tako him away, for the next 
moment, preceded by the stately Madame St. John, and in 
all tho luxurianco of wealth, and youth, and beauty, proud 
Margaret swept into the apartment, 

Liko Madame, she paused when midway; tho presence of 
the pallid, trembling old man, and the simple, awe-struck 
Janet, holding a conference with Lady Florence, filled them 
both with surprise. 

“ Margaret, my own winsome bairn,” burst forth David 
Graham, tears of joy trickling down his furrowed cheeks, 

1 ‘ have I found thee at last ; welcomo, dear lassie, to my 
home and heart,” and, as he spoke, he advanced to the won- 
dering beauty and laid his trembling hand upon her arm. 

Terrified, surprised, fearing she knew not what, Margaret 
visibly shuddered, and recoiled from his touch. 

A glimmering of the appalling truth had floated across 
her mind. 

“I do not understand, what does all this mean?” said 
she, in a cold and frigid tone ; then her eyes fell on her 
own locket, containing the miniature of her dead mother, 
and beside it the larger portrait, and she faintly compre- 
hended how matters stood. 

A shiver ran through her veins. Why, oh ! why had she 
neglected to place the miniature round her neck ? are these 
low, vulgar people claiming affinity with me ? wero thoughts 
which flashed with the rapidity of lightning through her 
brain. She then came forward, with a pallid face, and, in 
a voice the trembling tones of which she could not check, 
exclaimed proud Margaret : 

“ I do implore you, dear Lady Florence, tell me at once 
what means this strange tale ? /know nothing of this man 
who presumes to claim kindred with me.” 


OR, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 


145 


There was supplication in the tones of Margaret’s voice, 
entreaty, even horror. Lady Florence, who knew well the 
passion of pride that had enthralled her soul from infancy 
upwards, noted all this, but most the pure, humble-minded 
lady felt for the unhappy old man, and his gentle daughter, 
who stood pale and trembling by her side. 

“ My dear Margaret,” said she, “ that your deaa mother 
teas the daughter of this aged man, and that you are, con- 
sequently, his grand-daughter, admits not of a doubt. The 
miniature you had left upon your toilet table has been com- 
pared, my love, with yonder portrait ; both were taken at 
the same time, before — before^-” 

Here Lady Florence hesitated. 

“Before, wretch that I was, I turned my poor bairn 
from my home,” said David Graham; “ but, alack ! alack ! 

* I have wept and sorrowed long, and now let me but hear 
you say you forgive me, and come and share with me the 
money I hae saved for you, for whom I hac so long waited, 
and I can die happy and my heart will never sorrow more.” 
“I cannot credit this wild story, I do not admit the rela- 
tionship, old man,” and the haughty beauty drew herself 
up to her full height; “I have only your bare, unsupported 
assertion that I am the child of a daughter of yours.” 

“Spare him; ho speaks, alas! the truth,” and gentle 
Janet drew her father to a seat, and strove to kiss away the 
tears which fell down his furrowed cheeks ; then, observing 
the ghastly pallor of his countenance, she exclaimed : 

“ Proud Margaret Lindsey, if you want further proof, 
my mother can supply it; unfortunately for her and for me, 
you are of our kith and kin.” 

“ No word, not one word of affectionate forgiveness, and 
yet the Lord knoweth David Graham hath sorrowed long 
over the sin of twenty years syne ; he hath toiled that she 
13 


14G 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN j 


might reap, if ever again his bairn’s bairn should cross his 
path ; he made his wife and daughter toil that there should 
be enough and to spare for all. Speak, lassie, speak, say 
but one kind word to thy ain grandsire ; thy mithcr would 
not have been half sac hard.” 

“ Enough! I will hear no more. It is all an idlo tale; 
I believo not a word of it,” said Margaret, wrenching the 
end of her robe from her grandfather’s grasp, as she passed 
him by. 

u Proud, cruel woman, pauso and sec what you kae done,” 
said Janet, grasping her niece by the arm and compelling her 
to stop. The aged head had fallen heavily on the bosom of 
his child, and tho features, still wearing the same expression 
of piteous entreaty with which he had last addressed his ruth- 
less kinswoman, were now fixed in the repose of death. 

Struck with horror at the sight, a revulsion then took 
place in the heart of this haughty woman. That the talc 
she had listened to was true she had not for one moment 
doubted ; but her terrible pride, that hideous master-passion, 
the hydra-headed monster which had prompted many of her 
deeds of wickedness, and which she had suffered to sway 
every action of her still young life, had steeled her heart. 
To be claimed by him, to be proved to be the grandchild of 
this man, of an inferior class of life, the niece of the woman 
who was as a servant to them all, and whom she had looked 
on as the dust beneath her feet, was far more than she could 
endure. 

But she was now in the presence of death, nay, of that 
which she dreaded far more, of the stings of her own con- 
science; for he could never speak again, would that he 
c uld! But there sat the Lady Florence, whose sorrowful 
eyes said far more than words. There stood Madame St. 
John, whose “ Hush, you shock me, child,” when she had 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


147 


last addressed the old man, still trembled in her cars. 
There was his daughter, her dead mother’s half sister, her 
arms still thrown around the corpse, her eyes raining tor- 
rents of tears on the pallid features ; and more, even, than 
all these, there stood the dead inan’s irate wife, who, out of 
respect for her lodgers, had not intruded in their presence, 
but had listened in the gallery without, her blood at boiling 
heat when she ascertained why he had suddenly become 
penurious, and had sentenced herself and her daughter to a 
life of toil. 

But she could impose restraint upon herself no longer 
when sho found, from Janet’s lamentations, that her hus- 
band, in the midst of his excitement, had been struck with 
death. 

“Ye hae had nae pity on his white hears, proud quean,” 
said she, forgetting, in her excitement, the English she had 
so carefully studied, “ and sraa’ comfort may his gowd and 
siller bring till ye ; an unco bad thing it is for ye to hae 
killed him wi your bitter words ; ah ! it is sma’ use to grat 
noo, ye maun drink as ye hae brewed ; and ye hae my mal- 
ison wi tho gowd and siller my misfortunate David hae keepit 
for ye.” 

“ Woman, spare me ; none can sorrow more deeply than 
I now do over the past ; would — would that I could recall 
it; yet, suffer me,” said she, advancing to where Janet 
stood, and pushing aside a lock of white hair, she pressed 
her lips on the forehead of the corpse ; then, clasping her 
hands together, she exclaimed, as she left the room : 

“Ah I my God! would that I could recall the words I 
have uttered.” 

“ You must do more than wish, Margaret Lindsey,” said 
the Lady Florence, who, with Madame, had followed her 
from tho apartment; “pray that the grace of an humble 


148 • 


TIIE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


spirit may be given you ; put far away from you, once and 
forever, that indomitable, miserable pride, for it has become 
the very curse of your nature.” 

If tears could have restored the spark of life, those of 
Margaret would have availed, if the remorse she really felt 
might be accepted as an atonement ; her heart was pierced 
through and through, now, alas ! too late. 

She locked herself up in her own room, visited by none 
but Janet and the angelic Lady Florence. 

With the former, she every night and morning visited 
the chamber in which the corpse was laid until, a few days 
later, the remains of the old woolen-draper were interred in 
the churchyard of the Gray-friars. 

The day following the Marshal returned from Argylshirc, 
and the family prepared for their journey to St. Germains. 

To the amazement of her former protectors, Margaret 
avowed her determination of remaining in Edinburgh, and 
also avowed her intention of profiting by the fortune which, 
in his remorse for his hard-hearted conduct to his daughter, 
the old man, whose death Margaret had caused in the end, 
had bequeathed to her in his will. To enable him to carry 
out this intention, he had sentenced his wife and daughter 
to a life of toil and labor. 

In the minds of the Marshal and his family it was a ques- 
tion as to which humiliation was most intolerable to proud 
Margaret, that of remaining with themselves, after the 
denoument, in their Edinburgh lodgings, or descend at 
once from her high state and live in an humble though inde- 
pendent style on the savings of her unfortunate grandfather. 

At any rate, the Marshal and his wife and daughter-in- 
law were well pleased that their son Maurice, whose engage- 
ment to Isabel she had herself broken off, was no longer 
exposed to the artful machinations of a woman as proud 
and ambitious as she was beautiful and wicked. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


149 


The night before Lady Florence left Edinburgh Margaret 
craved an interview alone. She entered the room, pale and 
subdued, clad in robes of the deepest mourning. There 
was nothing bright and exultant in her now, as taking Lady 
Florence's hand in her own, she said : 

“ I cannot summon up resolution to face the Marshal and 
Madame St. John, dear Madam, but I beg you all to accept 
my thanks for the past, and I conjure you to try and forget 
th-t such a being as Margaret Lindsey ever existed.” 

“Ah, Margaret, my child,” said the gentle Lady, “rather 
will I pray unceasingly that you, on whom God hath show- 
ered so many gifts, may strive to overcome your own nature ; 
then, not in vain, my Margaret, will you have been claimed 
at last. I shall always be glad to hear from you and of 
your well-being.” 

“ I shall never forget you, dear Lady Florence, whether 
you hear from me or not you will please bear that in mind,” 
and the beautiful head was bent, and a tear fell on the hand 
of her former benefactress as she raised it to her lips. 

This was the only manifestation of womanly weakness) 
then Margaret was herself again, and making a low obei- 
sance to the impulsive and affectionate friend, who for one 
moment had folded her in her arms and kissed her on either 
cheek, she vanished from the room. 

Gentle, warm-hearted Lady Florence watched the stately 
retreating form, then she covered her face with her hands 
and shed some very bitter tears. “These women, whom I 
have loved and cherished even as my own dauhgters, they 
both have left me,” she murmurs, “ Margaret is almost as 
passionate as ever. Oh I my God ! touch Thou, in Thy 
mercy, that proud heart, and bring her to Thee yet, if oven 
through the furnace of tribulation.” 


13 * 



PART SECOND. 


CHAPTER I. 


TIIE RAISING OF TIIE STANDARD. 

Oh, better loved he eanna be; 

Yet, when wo see him wearing 
Our Highland plaid sao gracefully, 

Tis ayo the mair endearing. 

Though a’ that now adorns his brow 
Be but a simple bonnet, 

Ere long we’ll sec, of kingdoms three, 

The royal crown upon it. * 

KNOW you far better than you know yourself ; 
I pray you, dear Lochiel, do not expose your- 
self to the fascinations of the young Prince ; if 
he once sets his eyes upon you, he will make 
you do whatever lie pleases. Write to him, but on no 
account sec him. At this very moment, is not our own 
father wearing out a life of exile in France through his 
attainder in the Rebellion of 1715? Should Hot this 
thought operate as a warning to his sons?” 

Thus spoke Cameron, of Fassefcrn, to the chieftain, 
Lochiel. 

With but seven followers, afterwards called the seven men 
of Moidart, the gallant Prince Charlie, eldest son of James, 



* Jacobite Song. 


15 1 


152 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


and of Clementina Sobieski, had landed in an almost inac- 
cessible district of Invernesshire. Caution, worldly wis- 
dom and cold circumspection were fast giving way in the 
presence of the noble and dignified youth, whose easy and 
graceful manners won upon every heart.* 

Lochiel promised his more prudent brother that he would 
be firm, and not compromise himself by any rash or ill-ad- 
vised step ; but his colder feelings were scattered to the 
winds when in the presence of the irresistable and fascina- 
ting Prince. 

The standard is unfurled in the wild valley of Glenfin- 
nan, and the veteran Marshal hastened from St. Germains, 
attended by his grandsons, Maurice and Edward, to join the 
gathering of the clans. Thither also sped his brave brother- 
in-arms, Lord Balmerino, with many whose hearts beat high 
with hope, as they advanced from various points, to meet 
each other at the great place of rendezvous in the valley. 

Escorted by two companions belonging to the Macdon- 
alds, a young man, with regular and well-formed features, 
fair-haired and of dignified mien, entered, at an early hour 
on the morning of that memorable raising of tho standard, 
the narrow and sequestered ravine called tho vale of Glen- 
finnan. On either side it was scaled by lofty and craggy 
mountains, between which the little river Finnan wended 
its silent way to the sea. The desolate loneliness of the 
scene impressed the heart of the adventurous Prince with 
awe ; but the silence was at last broken by tho stirring 
sounds of the pibroch, and soon a body of seven hundred 
Highlanders rapidly descended the mountain paths from 
various directions, and loud and joyously roso tho strains of 
their national music. 

A mound in the centre of this romantic valley was chosen 


* Hist, of Rebellion of 1745, 


OE, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


153 


as a fitting spot for the raising of the standard, and a mon- 
ument, hearing a Latin insertion, still points out the spot 
to posterity. 

As the crimson silk banner, with a white centre, on which 
was written the celebrated motto, Tandem Triumphans, was 
unfurled by the aged Marquis of Tullibardinc, and waved 
in the fresh breeze of the mountains, the Highlanders made 
the air echo with their acclamations. Bending beneath the 
infirmities of age, the Marquis craved support. Two High- 
landers advanced and stood on either side, and the old man 
read in a clear voice the manifesto of the old Chevalier, 
exhorting his subjects to join the standard of their lawful 
sovereign, setting forth the grievances his people had suf- 
fered under the new dynasty, and expressing his resolve to 
redress them, as also to maintain all existing privileges. 

This document was dated at Rome, and signed James the 
Eighth. Another was afterwards read, in which James 
commissioned his son to act as Regent. The young Prince 
then presented himself to the enthusiastic soldiers, and made 
them a short but animated speech. 

It was a proud and happy moment for Charles when he 
joined the veterans who had followed him, and tho brave 
men who had accompanied him from France, to hear that on 
the samo day on which his standard was raised his small 
army was reinforced by Macdonald of Ivappoch, with three 
hundred of his clan, and tho next day by Macdonald of 
Glenooo with a hundred and fifty, by the Stewarts of Appin, 
under Ardshiel, with two hundred, and by Glcngary tho 
-younger with about the same number. 

And yet there were many, and amongst them was the 
Prince himself, who ascended the mountainous paths leading 
from the valley, after the raising of the standard, with anx- 
ious and throbbing hearts. Tho House of Hanover had firm 


154 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


possession of the throne, the troubles of 1715 were fresh in 
the minds of many present, either they or their parents hav- 
ing been involved in that unfortunate attempt to place James 
on the throne of his forefathers, and they were again about 
to stake their fortunes, their estates, nay, their very lives, 
in pursuance of the same object. 



OK, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


155 


CHAPTER II. 

THE BETROTHAL. 

PROMISE you, fair Marion, that as soon as my 
duty to the Prince is at an end, I will beg your 
uncle to bestow your band upon me, and, in 
token of our betrothal, suffer me to place a ring 
upon your finger. May the day not be long distant when 
I may have the happiness of placing there in its stead a 
simple circlet of gold.” 

The young girl whom Edward, the younger of the Mar- 
shal’s grandsons, thus addressed had but few pretensions to 
beauty, but her figure was faultless, and though her features 
were far from regular, there was a sweet and pleasant expres- 
sion in the face of Marion Chalmers which amply atoned for 
their lack of beauty. 

They stood beneath the walls of an old castle not far from 
Inverness. It was the residence of Arthur Elphinstonc, 
Lord Balmerino, and this young lady was the niece of his 
wife. 

Marion’s fingers had fashioned the white cockade with 
which his cap was adorned, she had seen her veteran uncle 
go forth to the vale of Glenfinnan with all the enthusiasm 
of the Scottish women of the period, and yet her heart sank 
within her as Edward St. John bade her farewell for an 
indefinite period. They stood beside the dry moat, the sides 
of which were thickly planted with shrubs, and as Marion 
looked up at the castle windows, burnished with the glories 
of the setting sun, she said: 

“ I mind me, Edward, ’twas just on so fair an evening as 
this I arrived with my dear uncle at the old chateau at St. 
Germains. Sad enough would my lot have been had he not 




156 THE LIMERICK VETERAN $. 

bade my aunt rear me as her own child, and that same adop- 
tion of myself leads me to think about those foster-sisters, 
Margaret and Isabel, of whom I heard Lady Florence speak 
so often. Have your family ever heard from Margaret 
Lindsey ? or, will the mystery that drove Isabel from your 
father’s roof ever be cleared up, think you?” 

“ Humanly speaking, Marion, when we take into consid- 
eration that ten years have passed, I think thcro is but little 
chance of such a finale. My brother Maurice was far moro 
tenderly attached to Isabel than my family imagined; nay, 
it is quite possible he may never marry should that mystery 
never bo solved.” 

“ But was it not to be lamented, Edward, that, aware of 
tho affection with which Lady Florence regarded her, unbro- 
ken even by that strange affair, Isabel should have fled from 
the chateau as she did ? ” 

“ It is hard to say, Marion. Supposing she was not in 
fault beyond having granted those stolen interviews (there 
was, of course, always a doubt against her in the minds of 
othors), who was that man? when and in what way did sho 
first become acquainted him ? and having made his acquain- 
tanceship, then comes tho why and the wherefore of an oath 
being necessary, unless to shield from the law come guilty 
person? Then the theft of tho jewels and a largo sum of 
money, together with the letters Margaret Lindsey had 
secured, contributed, one thing taken with another, to make 
peoplo look coldly upon her. That was not the case, how- 
ever, with our own family, and believing, as we have always 
firmly believed, in her innocence, I can well understand 
that, as years passed on, and, for some inscrutable reason, 
her lips still remained sealed, why she should have taken 
such a step as to leave her home.” 

“ How terrible for a cloud to settle on the character of an 


OK, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


157 


innocent woman, Edward ! And yet it is, and must ever be, 
that by our actions we arc judged. Poor Isabel ! I wonder 
will the truth ever be known ? How old is she, and do you 
think Maurice will ever marry ? ” 

“My fair querist, you have asked me two questions at 
once. Isabel was born in the year 1715, and as this is the 
year of grace 1745, you see she must be now thirty years 
of age. As to your second question, I must reply in the 
negative. My brother is not likely ever to marry unless he 
after all wed with the object of his first choice. But time 
wears on. Marion, I must bid you farewell.” 

“ My mind is full of fear on your account and that of my 
dear uncle. He has been an exile for twenty years already 
in the cause of the Stuarts. Is it to be wondored at that my 
aunt and myself are tormented with the most melancholy 
presentiments ? But to return to your own movements. 
Where do you join the Prince, Edward?” 

“In Edinburgh. He intends to tako up his quarters 
within two miles of the city. My brother and grandfather 
arc already on their way thither.” 

“ And you ought to have joined them ere this, Edward 
St. John, instead of losing your time in making pretty 
speeches to my niece,” said Lady Balmerino, now making 
her appearance through a thicket of trees hard by, near 
which she had been seated. “ And I beg to romind you, 
Marion,” added she, “ that the harvest moon is up,” and she 
pointed to the glorious luminary, now rising beyond the grey 
walls of the old mansion, “and that Edward’s steed has 
been neighing at the gate this half hour, and I have become 
weary of waiting for you. So, young people, I charge you 
make your adieus as speedily as possible ; the more brief the 
parting the better for both of you ; and God send it may 
herald a happy meeting.” 

14 


158 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN } 


Fair Marion Chalmers did not, indeed, endorse her aunt’s 
wise view of the question, hut was yet obliged to yield to 
that better judgment which decreed that the painful word, 
“ Farewell,” should be pronounced without further delay, 
and again bonny Marion and Edward St. John renewed, in 
the elder lady’s presence, their vows of everlasting constancy, 
and, amidst words of hope and encouragement on his part, 
they reached the gate, and vaulting gracefully into his sad- 
dle, he set spurs to his steed and was swiftly out of sight. 

Long stood Marion, straining her eyes in the far distance. 
The flood of silvery light gleamed on the summits of the 
mountain height, on loch and glen, shedding its radiance 
over the verdant meadows and rich lands, fertile in wood and 
water, that stretched beyond and around her Highland home, 
and again revealing on the rising ground the solitary horse- 
man in the distance, till a bend in the road shut him from 
her view. 

It was the darling wish of Lady Balmerino’s heart that 
the niece whom she had adopted iu her childhood, not 
because she was deprived by death of her natural protectors, 
but because her father had lost his fortune in tho rebellion 
of 1715, should be united in marriage with the grandson of 
her husband’s old friend and brother in arms, Sir Reginald 
St. John. Lady Balmerino had great misgivings as to the 
result of the present enterprise, but she kept her apprehen- 
sions locked within her own bosom. At the same time she 
was one of the most enthusiastic of the Scottish ladies, and 
had sold her jewels, in common with others, in order to con- 
tribute towards the funds required for the use of the Prince. 
In-deed by far the greater number of the women of Scotland 
were devoted adherents to the cause of bonny prince Charlie. 
Young, handsome, chivalrous, and unfortunate, it was small 
wonder that he should have been regarded with so deep an 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


159 


interest by women when we remember that the hearts of the 
grave and the aged of his own sex were alike enlisted in his 
favor. 

Weary waiting and watching it must have been in those 
days, when there were no penny broadsheets reaching as 
now even to the most remote localities, no electric telegraph, 
no railways bringing distance near, no speedy and well- 
organized postal system, and many weary weeks to pass ere 
reliable news could penetrate to places like this old mansion 
in the wilds of Inverness. 

When at last missives did arrive, they became informed 
of the routing of the Edinburgh town-guards and dragoons 
under Colonel Gardiner, that Lochiel and his Highlanders 
had made themselves masters of the city, that the Prince 
had entered in triumph the ancient kingdom of his fore- 
fathers, of the grand ball held in Holyrood palace, that 
Charles was received enthusiastically by the great bulk of 
the people, and that, at the head of his small army, he was 
about to march towards the enemy and force Sir John Cope, 
who was on his way from the north, to an immediate 
engagement. “ Keep your mind at rest, dearest Marion,” 
so concluded young St. John’s epistle, “ we are full of hope 
that we shall soon obtain a victory and before long establish 
the Prince on the throne of his forefathers.” 

Less of the expression of sanguine expectation was there 
in the few hurried lines addressed to Lady Balmerino by her 
husband, but he bade her hope the best, and promised to 
write again at the earliest opportunity. 






1G0 ’ 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER III. 

TIIE BATTLE OF rRESTON PANS. 

■"SrtRlIONSENSE, George, you will sec we shall win 
the day. What will that wild and barbarous 
horde avail against our disciplined and well* 
trained soldiers?” 

Thus spoke the English General, Sir John Cope, to one 
of the officers under his command. 

“ Nevertheless, Sir John, I cannot feel sanguine. Those 
same wild mountaineers bear a high character for endurance 
of hardship and steadiness of resolve. Their ardor and 
enthusiasm will perhaps more than atone for other deficien- 
cies. If so, it will be a sorry matter for us.” 

“ You arc a downright bird of ill-omen, forever croak- 
ing presages of ill,” observed Sir John. “ Remember, we 
do not intend to enact the disgraceful scene at Colt Bridge 
here. Our infantry will strike terror into the hearts of the 
rude and undisciplined forces we arc about to encounter. 1 
regard them with unqualified contempt.” 

It was a misty morning, cold and frosty, on which Sir 
John prepared to lead his troops against the army of Charles 
Edward, at Gladsmuir, or Preston Pans, as it was after- 
wards called. 

Well, indeed, might the General and his men have looked 
down upon the rude mass about to confront them wdth other 
feelings than those of fear if they relied only on the undis- 
ciplined state of the enemy. 

Even as Sir John spoke the last words, the sun shone out, 
and the mist of the early morning rapidly clearing away, 
the General beheld the Highland army, its line broken up 
into clusters, whilst that of his own infantry presented the 
appearance of a compact and solid mass. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


161 


Riding rapidly along the front of his line, he addressed 
words of encouragement to his men, for the clans were 
preparing for the charge, as reverently removing their bon- 
nets they for a moment paused in prayer, and then their 
famous war-cry resounded through the air, mingled with the 
wild din of the pibroch. 

Reckless in their impetuosity, they dashed madly forwards, 
their wild valor not responded to by the English soldiers, 
who were wholly unprepared for the desperate charge that 
ensued, for, drawing their swords, and grasping in the left 
hand the dirk and target, the Stuarts and Camerons the fore- 
most of the foe, rushed forward and beheld the English 
artillery fly disgracefully from the field. 

Sir John Cope and the aged Colonel Gardiner, awaro that 
their sole chance rested between flight and a brave resistance, 
shouted in tones of thunder to their followers, encouraging 
and exhorting them by their own example. 

With wild and frantic energy, born out of their ardent 
enthusiasm, the mountaineers rush onwards in the thick of 
the fight, aiming at the noses of the enemy’s horses with 
their swords, by which they caused them to rear, start, or 
wheel suddenly round, throwing the whole army into inex- 
tricable confusion. 

Is there anything in what are callod presentiments ? 
Amidst the first brought to the ground, beneath his own 
horse, was the cavalry officer who had differed with his 
general that morning as to their chances of success. 

“ Perdition seize the cowardly scoundrels,” said Sir John, 
beneath his set teeth, as he beheld his disciplined troops 
betaking themselves to a shameful flight beforo the rude 
Highland forces. Rut yet again he hoped, for the infantry 
at once poured forth a volley of shot which did fearful exe- 
cution. 

14 * 


162 • 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


But onward, still onward, press the wild Highland clans, 
grappling with the enemy in hand to hand combat, till at 
length the latter, seized by the same panic which had 
caused their companions to make a disgraceful flight, also 
fled from the field, and a scene of the wildest confusion at 
once ensued. 

But a very small party of English infantry, left without 
any commander, remained true to their colors on that event- 
ful day of the battle of Preston Pans, and won for them- 
selves the commmcndation of tho unfortunato Colonel Gar- 
diner, who, exhorting them to continue the contest, met 
with his own death by a blow from the broadsword of a 
Highlander on the back of his head. 

The Princo was elated with his cheaply bought victory, 
and, wearing the Highland dress, a blue bonnet on his 
head, and a St. Andrew’s cross on his breast, he traversed 
the field whereon lay the dead and the wounded ; but, with 
a truly noble spirit he refrained from any unseemly exul- 
tation, rather betraying sorrow for the misfortunes of those 
whom lie termed “ his father’s deluded subjects,” and, with 
Maurice St. John, the Marshal and Lord George Murray, 
he was busily devising plans for the comfort of the wounded 
when a sturdy, thick-set Highlander made his appearance, 
bringing with him no less than ten English soldiers, whom 
he had contrived to make his prisoners. 

The unmitigated rage of these unfortunate men may be 
better conceived than described. Their valor had been 
proved, for they had fought bravely on tho plains of Dot- 
tingen and Fontenoy ; and yet, panic-stricken, they had 
suffered themselves to be captured by one man. 

“These ten shentelmens, your Highness,” said Dugald, 
of the clan Gregor, making an awkward reverence to the 
Prince, “these ten shentelmens didna ken preoccsly whilk 


OR, THE ROSTER SISTERS. 163 

way to rin, sac I made sac bauld as to take the liperty of 
pringing them to your Highness.” 

With an almost unparalelled rashness, Dugald had pur- 
sued alone this small party, and striking one of them down, 
had commanded them to lay aside their arms. The terror- 
stricken soldiers had obeyed, and suffered themselves to be 
made prisoners by a single man grasping a sword in one 
hand and a pistol in the other. 

Then, after the Prince had extolled his courage and 
ordered the prisoners into safe but kindly keeping, the 
Highlander resumed : 

“And if his Highness will pe so goot as to excuse my 
aprupt departure, as I maun gang to a Sassenach soldier 
tat I hae carried into a pit hut, forbye, the creature asked 
me to pring to him Colonel Maurice — Maurice, fat ta deil, 
the name has rin clane out o’ my heard,” and here Dugald 
ran his fingers through his thick, sandy locks, as if he 
thought the action would refresh his memory. 

“Was St. John the name?” said Maurice, stepping for- 
ward from the knot of officers that had gathered round the 
Prince. 

“ To pe sure, sir, tat was ta name,” replied Dugald, add- 
ing, “ if I may take ta liperty of asking ta shentelraan to 
gang wi me, I will peg him to pc quick, as ta puir mon is 
wrastling wi death. I would be unco glad to ken fat busi- 
ness the fulc carle had to pc fighting at all.” 



164 • 


TIIE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE CONFESSIO N. 

CCOMPANIED by Colonel St. John, whose 
curiosity was excited, and who vainly hazarded 
a conjecture as to who amongst the English 
soldiers could have sent for him, he left the 
field in company with the Highlander, and after a sharp 
walk of about a quarter of a mile, the latter conducted 
him to a hut, built of round stones, without cement, and 
thatched with sod, on entering which, as soon as the smoke 
from the peat fire which burned on the earthen floor in the 
middle of the hovel had cleared away, he beheld, stretched 
on the ground, a man about thirty-five years of age, with 
the expression of whose features he seemed familiar, though 
not aware that he had ever met him before. 

Leaning over him, and endeavoring to staunch a wound 
in his side, was the old man to whom the hut belonged. 
The face of the stranger was pallid from loss of blood and 
approaching dissolution ; his blue eyes were dim, his fair, 
brown hair, that clustered over his temples, was marked 
with the stain of blood. 

For a moment the dim eyes were fixed on Maurice with 
an uneasy stare, then he beckoned him to his side. 

“ I am not known to you, Colonel St. John,” said he, in 
a low voice, “ nevertheless, I have much to tell you, and I 
must be quick, for I am quite aware that I am a dying man. 
Put, before I begin what I have to say, can you tell me if 
Sir John Cope has escaped?” 

Maurice replied in the negative. 

“It is well,” he said, with a melancholy smile, “his 
expedient of adopting the white cockade in a moment of 



OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


165 


peril lias, I Lope, carried him unharmed through your sav- 
age Highland clans ; but to the point. I must make a 
clean breast before I die. I owe reparation to you and 
yours, and, such as it is, I must make it quickly.” 

Much surprised, Maurice, with folded arms and thought- 
ful brow, silently regarded the stranger. Then, as if a sud- 
den thought occurred to him, he said : 

** Do you wish your communication to be private?” and, 
v as he spoke, he glanced significantly at Dugald and then at 
the old man. 

“ lie only understands Gaelic,” was the reply, “ and as 
to the other, he rendered me good service bearing me hither 
and then fetching you to me, so let him remain.” 

“Fat for?” said the Highlander, “Dugald MacGregor 
is nac the mon to fash himscll aboot t’ secrets o’ ither folk ; 
lie’s a shcntelman, aboon all sic ways.” 

As he spoke, he left the hut, and after a moment’s pause, 
the stranger began as follows : 

“My evil fortune, Colonel St. John, ordained that I 
should take the life, some ten years since, of a gallant 
French officer, the beloved friend of the king, and also 
your .own associate and companion — I allude to Count do 
Foix, whose death both of you bitterly deplored.” 

The countenance of Maurice was at once clouded by this 
allusion to his friend’s untimely death, and lie started on 
finding himself in the presence of one whom the emissaries 
of the King of France had sought for long and vainly. 

After a pause, during which the stranger was evidently 
gathering courage to proceed, he continued : 

“ The Marshal St. John and his Lady adopted, in her 
infancy, the orphan child of a certain Major Fitzgerald, 
bringing her up as their own daughter.” 

Again he paused, as if awaiting a reply. 

“ They did,” responded the Colonel. 


166 • 


TIIE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“About the time of De Foix’s death a shadow fell over 
the character of this girl, but she was the innocent tool, 
Colonel St. John, of an unscrupulous villain ; she was affi- 
anced to yourself, but you could not wed with one whose 
fair fame was tarnished, nor would she desire it, but on the 
word of a dying man, I declare Isabel, in thought, word or 
deed, innocent of ill as is the unborn babe.” 

“Gracious Heavens! what do I hear? ” said Maurice, 
striking his forehead with his clenched hand, and he strode 
without the hut, as if he could relieve his mind by breathing 
another atmosphere than that inhaled in common with the 
dying wretch to whose tale he was listening. 

The honest Highlander, who had taken his stand without, 
was surprised at the palor of his countenance. 

“My Cot!” he said, in a low voice, “the shentelman 
maun pe listening to an Unco awfu tale.” 

After a moment passed in the open air, Maurice re-entered 
the hut. 

“Beyond the terrible doubt which, I am quite aware, must 
have existed on the minds of all,” resumed the stranger, “ as 
to the purity of Isabel Fitzgerald, she must also, to a certain 
extent, have appeared to be mixed up with a matter which 
involved a very heavy loss to Lady Florence St. John, a 
rather extensive robbery having been perpetrated about 
the same time, whilst your family were absent from the 
chateau.” 

At this point of the stranger’s recital, Maurice could 
restrain himself no longer. 

“Who arc you, sir?” ho exclaimed; “disclose to me 
your name. Good Heavens I my poor love, my Isabel, how 
bitterly have you been made to suffer.” 

A deep groan burst from the lips of the dying man. 

“ Listen ; I am making the only reparation in my power,” 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


167 


said he, “God is merciful to forgive, Colonel St. John; I 
am the wretched unworthy brother of this unfortunate 
Isabel.” 

* ‘ Can it be possible ? ” 

“ The words I utter arc as true, as that before yonder 
sun shall set, I shall stand in the presence of my Maker ; 
attend to what' I say. The father of Isabel was twice mar- 
ried. lie had a child, a boy of some seven years of age, 
living under the care of a maiden aunt at the time of the 
Rebellion of 1715, a short time before which he had mar- 
ried again. His son now lies before you, Colonel St. John, 
mortally wounded by one of your wild mountaineers. 

“As I advanced to manhood, I became extravagant and 
dissolute. My aunt’s death placed me in possession of a 
handsome fortune, the greater portion of which was lost at 
the gaming table, and the remainder squandered in Paris 
amongst the gay and profligate nobility who flocked about 
the French court. 

“A bitter feud existed between myself and do Foix, 
arising out of what may be termed an affaire de coeur. It 
was in no fairly fought duel, alas ! that my rival fell ; one 
word begot another, mutual recrimination followed, and in 
a fit of jealous rage I stabbed him to the heart. 

“ I dreaded the anger of the King, de Foix being one of 
his most favored friends. I knew my life would pay the 
forfeit of my crime were I discovered, and my aunt having 
told me of the relationship that existed between myself and 
the young lady whom the Marshal and his Lady had adop- 
ted in her infancy, I resolved, under the cover of night, to 
escape to St. Germains and introduce myself to her, with 
the hope that she might be able to supply me with funds 
wherewith to make my way to England, intending to enter 
the service of the King.” 

“ Of the Elector, you mean, George of Hanover?” 


168 . 


T1IE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“Exactly so; it mattered not to mo whether Guelph or 
Stuart sat on the throne; all I wanted was to get out of that 
infernal France ; that was all I cared about.” 

“And to compass your ends, was it you, then, who 
induced that unfortunate, timid girl to seal her lips with a 
vow of secrecy? Oh, my God! Thy ways are indeed 
inscrutable ; how has every hope of her life been blasted.” 
“I beseech you, sir, spare mo these comments on the 
shortcomings of my past life. I am quite aware it was all 
very wrong,” said the dying wretch, in a tone rather lean- 
ing to the ludicrous than otherwise; “ wait a while, at 
least, and say out your say when my tale is ended: 

“ I did induco her to take an oath of secrecy. I told her 
that yourself and dc Foix were bosom friends. Through 
the medium of my man Jacques, I once laid percZw in the 
old palace of St. Germains for some weeks; whilst there 
she brought me articles of value belonging to herself in the 
way of jewelry ; these I promised not to sell, but was to 
raise money on for my uso and return them later. She also 
conveyed to me her little stock of money. 

“ Time passed on. I was taken alarmingly ill, the blood- 
hounds of the law were on my track, and I endeavored to 
convince her that such help as she could afford was useless, 
that painful as it might be to her feelings to adopt means 
such as she might perhaps deem dishonorable, she should 
not hesitate when the safety of her own brother was at stake 
(I had concealed from her that our relationship was only 
half blood). I urged her to resort to any expedient rather 
than place me in peril, and trust to mo to set things right 
later.” 

At this point, the words, “My poor, unhappy Isabel,” 
burst from the Colonel’s lips. 

“ Oh, she took every care of herself, I assure you. She 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


1(S9 


would not yield an inch where honor and virtue and all 
those fine sentiments were concerned, and tho myrmidons 
of tho law would havo had me in their toils, no doubt, had 
I been half so scrupulous; but, recognizing the principle 
that self-preservation is the first law of nature, I adopted a 
plan, sufficiently repugnant to the feelings of a gentleman, 
but, at tho same time, my only resource.” 

There was a moment’s pause, and tho Colonel exclaimed : 

“ Gracious Heavens! sir, was it you who committed tho 
burglary at the chateau ? ” 

“ Pray, Colonel St. John, do not shock mo by using such 
a word in connection with any act of mine,” said the mis- 
erable wretch ; “at the same time, I thank you very much 
for having spared me from entering into details which, 
really, to a gentleman like myself, of refined and cultivated 
mind, arc particularly painful. It was even so; I did, 
uninvited, visit your paternal home, under the cover of 
night, and appropriate to my own use, as a loan, certain 
sums of money and articles of jewelry, which I have never 
become rich enough to return, fortune being against me, 
by the way, all my life. I have now to pay the debt of 
nature to that inexorable tyrant, death, who you well know 
will take no denial from any of us ; but take my word, sir, 
that thief of a Jew money-lender, Isaac Levy, of Aldgate, 
is quite as hard a creditor. Year after year I have con- 
sidered it a point of honor to pay his exorbitant rate of 
interest for money advanced on those jewels I borrowed of 
Lady Florence and my sister, and not one farthing of the 
original loan, wherewith to redeem them, have I been able 
to scratch together ; however, I will give you the doc- 
uments.” 

It was not without many pauses that the dying spend- 
thrift had delivered himself of this long narration; and 
15 


170 . 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


now lie signed to the old man to extricate, from around his 
waist, a belt which he wore over his shirt, within which a 
small packet had been carefully stitched. 

“ With these documents, Colonel, the jewels may be re- 
deemed,” he continued, “and I hope my escapade at St. 
Germains will not in the end injure the lady with whom I 
can claim kindred. She loved me, I really believe; also, 
I think she did all in her power to help me, consistently 
with her very exalted ideas of right and wrong.” 

“She did more, far more, than she ought to have done, 
sir,” said the Colonel, in tones of deep disgust, “in allow- 
ing her lips to be bound by a solemn oath, and in meeting 
you at the risk of incurring a slur on her own spotless fame, 
but, God help me, I forget I am speaking to a man wrest- 
ling in the arms of death,” lie added, observing a dark 
shadow pass over the unhappy man’s features. 

“ I have been a sad scamp, Colonel, reckless and heart- 
less; repentance has come too late.” 

“ Repentance is never too late, Fitzgerald,” said the sub- 
dued and softened Colonel. “We are in the midst of blood 
and desolation ; would that I had it in my power to bring 
you some worthy priest, but, alas ! I cannot. I, too, am 
but a rough soldier, but I beg you to turn your heart to 
God.” 

“And Isabel, poor Isabel. I did not care for the sister 
whom I had never known ; I used her for my own selfish 
purposes. How fared it with her? I never thought she 
would consider herself bound to keep that vow after I had 
gone.” 

“ Stung at the undeserved coldness of persons not of my 
own immediate family, she, of herself, broke the engage- 
ment that subsisted between us, and when, after the lapse 
of two years, she never heard from you, she left her home 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


171 


clandestinely and sought refuge in a convent. As soon as 
I can leave this place for France I shall hasten to her, with 
what purpose you may well conceive.” 

“God he praised! allow me to clasp your hand within 
my own. Say that you forgive me.” 

“Ten years of our lives we have known happiness but 
by name,” was the reply. “I have felt myself a moody, 
disappointed man ; she has never ceased to pray that the 
cloud might be removed that had fallen upon her spotless 
innocence. Gladly would I have wedded her, firm in my 
belief in her virtue, but she ever persistently refused. But 
brighter days may be yet in store for my poor, heart-broken 
love, and I forgive you, Fitzgerald, as I hope to be forgiven.” 
And then he who had scarce ever prayed since his happy 
boyhood strove to pray now. A dissolute spendthrift, a 
vain coxcomb, heartless, selfish, unprincipled, all this indeed 
he was, but still there were holy recollections garnered up 
in his memory. Again he was a little child, lisping out his 
prayers at the knee of the faithful woman who had supplied 
a mother’s place, prayers which for more than twenty years 
his lips had never uttered, but the remembrance of which 
came back to his mind in disjointed phrases, like a broken 
strain of music heard in far off years, the melody of which 
we still remember. Then he rambled on of old times, still 
recurring to the subject matter of his late confession. Now 
he was on the hillside at St. Germains, then holding a vio- 
lent discussion with the Jew of Aldgatc, then fighting val- 
orously on the field of Preston Pans, and urging Sir John 
to wear the white cockade, and thus escape unharmed, as 
the odds of the day were against them. 

Then there came a dead pause, the pale face assumed a 
grayish tinge, and a frightful convulsion shook the whole 
frame. At that moment Dugald entered the hut. 


172 


TIIE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“ Cot help us,” he murmured, “ tat is fat hcrsell maun 
come to. Put it is an unco awfu’ sight. Puir shcntclman ! 
he’ll nac cloubt pc dying. Fat a dismal noise in his thrap- 
plc, Colonel.” 

That terrible sound in the throat termed the “ rattles ” 
was what Dugald alluded to. The closing scene was at 
hand. “ Will he die and make no sign ? ” thought the Col- 
onel, who had offered up fervent aspirations for his conver- 
sion. Even at that moment the words “ Lord have mercy 
upon me a sinner” burst forth, accompanied by aloud wail- 
ing cry, the cry of a penitent heart. Then there was a long 
gasp, and all was over. 

“In the glorious light of God’s boundless mercy may he 
stand forgiven ! ” said the Colonel, as he walked out into 
the clear bright sunshine. 

ifc * * sfc SjS sH jfc 

And before that sun had set, honest Dugald, of the Clan 
MacGregor, had with his own hands dug a grave near the 
field of Gladsmuir, and, with the help of the old man to 
whom the hut belonged, had deposited within it the remains 
of George Fitzgerald. The Colonel liberally recompensed 
them, and then hastened to seek the Marshal, in order to 
acquaint him with the events of the morning. 

On that eventful day, however, it was almost impossible 
to be a moment to themselves. He found the young Chev- 
alier standing amidst his friends, habited in the simplest 
manner, his dress being neither more nor less than a coarse 
plaid ; on his head he wore a blue bonnet, around which was 
a piece of plain gold lace ; his boots and his knees, by the 
way, were very far from clean. 

A few hours later, attended by several officers, he rode 
to the mansion of the Marquis of Twccdalc, where they 
were to pass the night, and at length Maurice, finding him- 


. OK, THE FOSTEE SISTERS. 


173 


self alone with the Marshal, hastened to relate the confession 
of Fitzgerald, adding, “ that lie should repair to France as 
soon as possible, and claim Isabel as his affianced bride.” 

“ But that day is yet far off, my poor Maurice,” said the 
Marshal. “We arc now engaged in sharing the fortunes 
of war. It is impossible for you to leave Scotland at 
present.” 

Recognizing the unwelcome truth of the Marshal’s words, 
Maurice contented himself with inscribing a long epistle to 
the much-tried Isabel, with a full recital of his interview 
with her half-brother, together with another for the joint 
perusal of the ladies at St. Germains. Little did he think 
when lie penned those letters that nearly another year would 
elapse before his dreams of happiness would be realized, or 
that his happiness would meet with alloy by the death of 
thoso whose hearts would have rejoiced to witness it. 

Early on the following morning the clans marched into 
Edinburgh, parading the city to the Jacobite air, “The 
King shall enjoy his ain again.” Their picturesque garb 
and wild appearance, their prisoners, the spoils of artillery 
and the baggage which followed in the rear, together with 
the banners and standards of the various clans, as also those 
which they had seized, rendered the sight exhilarating and 
imposing, and contributed to raise the hopes of the adher- 
ents of the Stuart race. 



25 * 




174 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN;. 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE SCEUR MADELEINE. 

ARK ! is it slic, or only the Sister of Charity ? 
Has the summons come too late ? Oh ! that I 
could clasp her in my loving arms once more, 
my poor, innocent Isabel.” 

Thus spohe the aged Lady Florence, now suffering under 
mortal malady, and she listens attentively, as in the pausing 
of the gust she again fancies she hears the wheels of a 
vehicle coming up the avenue. 

The bleak wind of a January evening, in the year 174G, 
blew keenly around the old chateau in the valley ; it shook 
the latticed casements in their frames, and threatened 
destruction to the (paint old place itself. It was a dark 
night; not a glimpse of moonlight; but occasionally a few 
stars might be seen, ever and again obscured by the passing 
clouds which swept over them. 

Lady Florence’s sense of hearing had not deceived her ; 
in the pauses of tho gust she had really distinguished the 
Bound of the wheels of a vehicle approaching tho chateau. 

In a moment the clang of the great bell resounded 
through tho house, and a little later a waiting-maid entered 
tho chamber to apprise the lady that the Socur do la Charitc 
had arrived. 

A spacious old-fashioned room was that in which the Lady 
Florcnco sat, or rather reclined on a couch. There were 
three windows in tho chamber, with latticed panes, placed 
within deep recesses, sufficiently wide to form a somewhat 
spacious and pleasant seat in the summer days, when these 
casements were garlanded by the starry flowers of the jasc- 
minc ; but now, with every gust of wind, the leafless ten- 




175 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

drils of the creeping plant beat against the glass, ever and 
again mingled with the driving sleet. 

The antique and cumbrous furniture of the room accorded 
well with its oaken wainscot, diamond-shaped casements, 
and its huge bed with its heavy hangings of dark green 
satin ; a rich Turkey carpet was on the floor ; but the bright 
wood fire that burned in the ample stove, and the lighted 
wax candles on the table beside the now aged lady, failed to 
dispel its obscurity, its remote nooks and corners remaining 
in almost total darkness. 

A rosary of oriental pearl with links of gold lay beside 
her, also an open book from which she had been reading, 
but her thoughts had wandered back to the past, to her 
youth, then to the early days of her wedded life ; she thought 
of the old times when the chateau had rung with the merry 
voices of her own children, of her adopted daughters, of her 
grandsons, and clasping her hands together, she sighed forth 
the words: “Reginald, my husband, shall we ever meet 
again ? ” 

As she spoke, the door was opened by the waiting-maid, 
who ushered in a Sister of Charity. 

That most unattractive head-gear worn by the daughters 
of St. Vincent do Paul failed to disguise the loveliness of 
the countenance beneath, as did the dress of coarse black 
serge the demeanor and elegance of the wearer. 

“I am glad to see you, my good Sister,” said Lady Flor- 
ence, “ but I could have wished you had deferred your com- 
ing hither till the morrow ; a tempestuous night indeed hath 
this been for a journey from your convent.” 

“Ah! Madam, a Sister of Charity, if her whole heart 
be in her holy calling, docs not heed such trifles. I have 
traveled part of the road in a coach, too. Moreover, I am 
used, with all my Sisters, to brave the inclemencies of tho 
weather.” 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


176 . 

“I am very glad to have you with me, Sister,” said the 
lady after a pause. “The recent death of my beloved 
daughter-in-law, preceded by that of a friend, one Mistress 
Wilmot,” and as she spoke, Lady Florence glanced at the 
sable robe she wore, “ together with the absence of my hus- 
band and grandsons, render this old chateau but a gloomy 
residence. One is apt when alone to ponder over the past 
too much, for one’s memory will be busy in spite of oneself. 
Methinks, Sister, it is one of the greatest sorrows of old age, 
this beholding all we have ever loved oftentimes drop from 
our side, as the withered leaves of autumn from the branches 
of the tree.” 

“True, Madam; but your Ladyship knoweth as well as 
myself that there is a balm in Gilead for the sorrow that 
you name. Our loved ones arc only gone a little before us ; 
we ourselves must surely follow; in the eye of faith, they 
arc not dead but sleeping.” 

The death of Madame St. John had occurred but very 
recently, and a few tears rolled down the lady’s face as the 
Sister spoke. Very pale was her countenance and marked 
by the traces of deep sorrow, and still there was a something 
inexpressibly soft and sweet in the venerable features, to- 
gether with the expression of a peace not born of earth. 

Tho presence of the Sister was of itself sure to soothe the 
spirits of the invalid. As to recovery of health, her malady 
was of such a nature that it could not be expected. 

Often, in the long hours which she afterwards passed iu 
the society of the Sister, did Lady Florence gaze admiringly 
at her companion. She was a beautiful woman, with a reg- 
ular cast of features and lustrous eyes, but an air of cold 
reserve seemed to mark her character, and she asked herself 
the question, had any smouldering Arc ever burned beneath 
that calm and unimpassioned exterior ? was there a story in 


OR, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 177 

the life of the Scour Madeleine? had she taken the veil 
when young and free from the world’s contaminating influ- 
ence, breaking with it at once, wholly and entirely because 
burning with the love of God ? or, had she been drawn to 
it after having tasted, and found that its promises were 
deceitful, its pleasures vain ? A woman lovely in form and 
feature, reticent very, and sparing in her speech, yet withal 
most kind and courteous, Lady Florence would have sor- 
rowed much had the Sister been summoned to her convent ; 
and still there was a something chilling and repellent at 
times in her demeanor which warded off every attempt to 
discover that very little of the past which she would have 
liked to know. 

Meanwhile time passed on, and brought with it news that 
Isabel, whom Lady Florence so much desired to see, could 
not come to St. Germains till she had recovered from a.severc 
illness by which she was attacked before the letter of Mau- 
rice, which brought back to her hope and happiness, had 
reached her hands. 

If the Sister was reticent, and indeed it would not have 
been consonant with the character of the state she followed 
to have been forever prating of the past, Lady Florence was 
still the very soul of candor and frankness, as in the days 
of her youth, and so she would not unfrcquently beguile the 
long, wearisome days of a portion of their tedium by stories 
of old times, of her girlhood in the Court of Queen Mary, 
of her happy wedded life in that same old chateau in which 
she had dwelt ever since her marriage. 

The Sister, too, was a good listener, and as the invalid 
dwelt upon the past, she lent a not unwilling car, sometimes 
even questioning, in a timid and delicate manner, when she 
wished for further information. 

Then, with tears in her eyes, the lady told of the great 


178 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


grief that came upon her when she lost her son and daugh- 
ter, and pressing her hand on her heart, a prayer would 
tremble on her lips, beseeching God to spare the husband 
and grandchildren, who were now the last of their race. 

“ If Maurice docs but come back to me again, I will see 
that his long-deferred marriage shall take place quickly,” 
resumed the lady. “ My innocent Isabel! how I long to 
embrace her, and to sec her at last united to my grandson.” 

In a half-hesitating way, said the Sister, affirming rather 
than questioning : 

“Your grandson, then, is engaged to be married, 
Madam ? ” 

“ Yes, Sister, a loDg, protracted engagement it has been, 
lie was betrothed eleven years since to a gentle girl whom 
I had adopted in her infancy. Indeed I had taken two 
orphan children to my arms ; the one gentle and amiable, 
the other full of pride and passion. A wilful, headstrong 
damsel was that Margaret Lindsey,” she added, as if speak- 
ing to herself, “but God knows I loved her too, imperious 
and stubborn as she was, and would like much to know of 
her well-being, though she has long since forgotten the pro- 
tectress of her youth, for never tale or tidings have I of her 
since she bade me farewell in Edinburgh eleven long years 
ago. But I was going to tell you of Isabel. I had left 
those girls, or young women I might call them, in this 
chateau, wffiilst I, with the rest of my family, spent a few 
months in the Highlands of Scotland. On my return, 
Sister, a terrible tale was poured into my ears by Margaret, 
who was but too ready to think evil of her foster-sister. 
However, to be brief, it was but too true that this Isabel, 
whom we had so loved and trusted, and about whom it were 
hard to believe ill, had been in the habit of meeting by the 
hillside in the valley some stranger uuknown to all of us, 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


170 


had given him all her jewels and small stock of money, had 
tied herself to sccresy by a solemn oath, and even in some 
way appeared to have been cognizant of the fact of his being 
concerned in a daring robbery at the chateau a few nights 
before the day of our return home.” 

Here Lady Florence for a moment paused, and the Sis- 
ter observed : 

“It was not proved, however, that this Margaret, of 
whom your Ladyship has told me, had spoken falsely con- 
cerning her foster-sister, was it, Madam ? ” 

“Alas! no. For the time being, and, indeed, for all 
these long years have Isabel’s lips remained scaled as to 
the past. Only very lately has it been made known to us 
that she was as innocent of evil as — ” 

“Innocent! Madam, can that be true?” eagerly ex- 
claimed the usually calm and self-possessed Sister. 

“ I was about to say, Sister, she was innocent of evil as 
the babe unborn. During the late battle at Gladsmuir, 
my grandson, Maurice, was called to the death-bed of an 
English officer. He was one of the soldiers of the man they 
call King George. Oh ! wonderful and inscrutable arc the 
ways of God. Can you believe it, my good Sister, this 
man declared himself the half-brother of my poor Isabel, 
of whose existence even we were not aware. He had com- 
mitted a crime in France for which he would have been con- 
demned to death. He made himself known to my poor 
child, worked upon her feelings in various ways, extorted a 
vow of secrecy, and, to fill up the measure of his iniquity, 
made a forcible entrance into the chateau ; and aware, as 
she undoubtedly was, as to who was the nocturnal intruder, 
the fact of her being found in a swoon in this very room, in 
which the robbery was committed, clears up everything that 
has for years appeared to tell against her. Heaven knows 


180 ' THE LIMERICK VETERAN ) 

I never believed her guilty ; but others did. She keenly 
felt their coldness, and left us, almost without a word, to 
bury herself in the retirement of the convent in which she 
had been educated, until, as she afterwards w’rotc me, her 
innocence should be made manifest/’ 

“Oh! my God! how sinful it is to judge one’s neighbor 
from appearances,” said the Sister. 

Struck with the earnestness with which sho spoke, Lady 
Florence raised her eyes. The Sister’s face was shaded by 
her veil, but she remarked that her countenance was even 
paler than usual, and she beheld tears falling down her 
checks. 

“My dear Sister Madeleine, how I thank you for your 
sympathy. Well, I have nearly finished my story. I had 
written my poor Isabel to come hero immediately, not aw'are 
that she was ill; but as soon as Maurice returns they will 
be married. I have forgotten, however, to tell you, that 
from this attachment of Isabel and Maurice proceeded one 
of the causes of Margaret’s aversion to her foster-sister. 
She had suffered her own heart to be taken captive, and it 
was hard to love her as I once did, Sister, because it was 
impossible to blind one’s eyes to the fact that she felt a sat- 
isfaction in dragging forward every circumstance that could 
tend to the ruin of Isabel.” 

“And when did your Ladyship say that Isabel would be 
at the chateau ? ” 

And the pale, beautiful woman roso and turned aside to 
pour out a cordial for her patient. 

“ I hope very soon ; but do you not remember, Sister, I 
said that at present sho was very ill ? Ah ! me, one fixes 
one’s affections on the children whom we rear and love, but 
what sorrow are we often doomed to suffer on their account ! 
I have thought about that perverse, proud Margaret so often, 


OR, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 


181 


and sorrowed so much, wondering what her fate has been, 
for the end of her story, up to the time when we parted, 
was painful enough, and I try and banish it from my mind ; 
and I havo also wept over Isabel’s troubles, poor, silly girl, 
till my heart has been well nigh broken.” 

“ But, your Ladyship, in His boundless mercy, God may 
have touched the hard, proud heart of Margaret and called 
it to Himself. Have you never thought that this may have 
been the case? This Margaret must have been well and 
carefully reared, and as she advanced in life, grace may 
havo been given to her to look back and sorrow over the 
errors of so proud and wilful a heart, and in lieu of that 
unrequited, earthly love, which she doubtless felt in the 
full force of her impulsive, passionate nature, when she did 
give her heart to God, with that gift she would taste an 
ecstasy of heavenly love, of which all earthly passion is but 
as the shadow, and out of that same love would spring a 
heartfelt sorrow and repentance.” 

As the Soeur Madeleine spoke theso words, the natural 
beauty with which she was endowed seemed to become 
almost superhuman, the sentiments with which her heart 
was filled reflecting themselves in her countenance. 

“ You arc right, Sister,” said Lady Florence, warmly 
pressing the white and almost transparent hand which rested 
on her pillow ; “you are quite right, and I thank you for 
having inspired me with such a train of good and holy 
thoughts. My poor Margaret ! yes, it is quite truo she 
may, if still alive, become, if not so already, eminent in 
holiness and virtue. God grant it may be so, and, for this 
end, do you add your pious aspirations to my own unworthy 
prayers. The day of my life is far spent, Sister. Oh, that 
it may be given me to behold yet once again those whom I 
love, my husband and my sons, with my adopted daugh- 
16 


182 ' 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


ters, and then let me but hear that our rightful King has 
his own again, and I shall have no earthly wish ungratified.” 
“And now you must say no more, dearest Lady Florence. 
\Vc will both unite in prayer for Margaret before we close 
our eyes this night, and, like a good nurse, I shall watch 
by you for awhile till you are asleep, and then I will take a 
little rest later. I am a light sleeper, as you know, and 
the slightest movement on your part will rouse me imme- 
diately, should you require attendance.” 

Then the Sister of Charity began to make her prepara- 
tions for the night, and as her tall and elegant form, which 
even that coarse robe could not disguise, moved noiselessly 
about the room, the heart of Lady Florence rejoiced that 
this particular Sister had been the one selected to attend 
her in her illness by the Mother Superior of her convent. 
A something there was about her, too, which forcibly re- 
called to her remembrance the unworthy daughter of her 
adoption, the cast of features, so classically regular in their 
outline, being the same ; but there the likeness ended. 
There was nothing of Margaret in the subdued expression 
of those features, in the timid and downcast look of the 
meek and humble Sister, nor between the slender Margaret, 
quick and light of step, and the staid, majestic woman who 
hovered near her, and yet — and yet, the Sister of Charity 
ever and again brought Margaret more present to her mind, 
ever, in some little trifling way, awakening a remembrance. 
Thus ran the current of the aged Lady’s thoughts both 
before, and after, having joined the Sister in prayer for her 
former protegee, till she lost herself in sleep. 

The old clock in the turret had struck the hour of mid- 
night. Lady Florence was buried in a profound sleep, the 
rest of the small household, consisting only of servants, for 
times had indeed changed, had gone to rest, but the Sister 
kept watch, watch not only over the invalid but over Self. 


183 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

With folded hands she had sat her down to think over an 
unforgotten past. The early days of childhood arc hers 
again, the stormy youth, the passionate womanhood, the 
sin, never to be forgotten, wrought by one master passion, 
with which even now she wrestles ; the red spot on the pale 
check and the rigidly clasped hands clearly tell the tale. 

For a moment, only. Then, like the Magdalen of old, 
whose name, out of devotion to that great penitent, the Sis- 
ter bears, love wins for her the victory. See, she draws 
the crucifix from her side, and, her eyes swimming in tears, 
she bows down her head, and after a moment spent in silent 
contemplation she is herself again. 

“My Love, my crucified Love, shall I shrink from the 
very cross I have so long sought after? Strengthen me to 
accept it cheerfully, nay, gladly, for this can but be the 
beginning of the end.” 



184 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN' 


CHAPTER -VI. 


BAFFLED XIOFES. 



OTWITIISTANDING the hopes of Maurice St. 
John to the contrary, many weary months passed 
after the discovery of the innocence of Isabel 
before there could be any possibility of their 


meeting each other. 


The victory won by Charles Edward’s troops at Preston 
Pans filled him with an earnest desire to march into Eng- 
land, rightly judging that to remain longer in supinentss in 
Edinburgh, whilst a superior force was preparing to meet 
him, must lead to fatal results. Rut such a course was 
violently opposed by the Highland chieftains; also by the 
humbler clansmen, who entertained a superstitious horror 
of being taken across the border. 


After a faint show of resistance, Carlisle surrendered to 
the Duke of Perth, and the keys were delivered to Charles, 
at the little town of Rrampton, by the Mayor and Aldermen 
on their knees. 

During his march southward, the gi-catcst good order and 
the strictest discipline were maintained ; every article, how- 
ever trifling, being promptly paid for, the poor Chevalier 
himself being the first to set the example to his people, 
who, by his orders, rigorously abstained from pilfering or 
plunder. 

The Highland army marched out of Penrith with the 
various clans in their picturesque costumes, commanded by 
Charles Edward himself; whilst to Lord George Murray 
was assigned the regiments which had been raised in the 
Lowlands. 

At the head of his men marched the Prince, clad in his 


OR, TIIE POSTER SISTERS. 


185 


Highland costume, and with his shield slung across his 
shoulders. In lieu of the hideous periwig he wore his own 
fair hair ; his complexion was dark, and his open counte- 
nance and bright lively eyes interested all who beheld him. 

In common with the humblest of his followers he shared 
all the fatigues and privations of the march. As to dinner, 
he was never known to partake of one, his principal meal 
being 'his supper; then he would throw himself on his bed 
without undressing, and generally rise the next morning at 
four. Daring and intrepid, no obstacle daunted him. Thus, 
ou finding, when he reached the Mersey, that the bridges 
were all broken, he forded the stream at the head of his 
division, though the water reached his middle. Only on 
one occasion is lie said to have been overcome with fatigue.* 

At Manchester, he was received with acclamations of joy. 
Throngs of people presented themselves to kiss his hand and 
make him offers of service. Bonfires burned in the streets, 
the bells were rung in the churches, thousands of the towns- 
people wore the white cockade, and, amidst a band of chief- 
tains and gentlemen, he entered the town on foot, arrayed 
in a light tartan plaid, his belt and blue sash, and with a 
blue velvet bonnet, ornamented with a knot of white rib- 
bons, on the side of his head, beneath which strayed a mass 
of yellow hair.f 

He then took up his quarters in a large house in Market 
street. For many years afterwards it was still called the 
Palace. Later it was converted into an inn, and has since 
been pulled down 

A body of about two hundred men were here assembled 

* On this occcasion, when between Penrith and Shap, he walked 
for several miles half asleep, leaning on the shoulder of one of the 
clan, Ogiloie, to prevent himself from falling. — Chamber's Hist, of 
Rebellion. 

t Reception awarded to the Trince at Manchester, Sic.— Sec Cham- 
ber's Rebellion. 

1 ( 3 * 


186 


TIIE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


together, and Mr. Townlcy, a Roman Catholic gentleman 
of ancient family and considerable literary attainments, was 
apppointed their colonel. 

With colors flying and bagpipes playing, Charles Edward 
then made his entry in the town of Derby, and was received 
by the people with every demonstration of attachment as at 
Manchester. 

But the King’s army, amounting to 12,700 men, was 
drawing near him, and the news of the approach of the vet- 
eran regiments, commanded by the Duke of Cumberland, 
filled the minds of all with alarm. Not only did his army 
double that of the unfortunate Prince, but another of G,000 
men, under Marshal Wade, was skirting the western side of 
Yorkshir , whilst a camp was forming at Finchley for the 
protection of London ; George the II declaring his intention 
of taking the field in person at the head of this force. 

Still sanguine, Charles resolved in his own mind not to 
stay and give battle to the Duke, but to hasten on to Lon- 
don, confront the forces of George, and make himself mas- 
ter of the Capital. 

But, alas ! for his hopes and desires. With Lord George 
Murray at their head, the commanders of the several bat- 
tallions, to his unfeigned surprise, urged him to return to 
Scotland. There was no evidence, they insisted, of a gen- 
eral rising amongst the English ; no descent, iu their favor, 
from France. 

The Duke of Perth alone took_ no part in these debates. 
Leaning his head against the fireplace, he heard the dis- 
putes without a word, but at last declared himself of the 
opinion of the other chiefs. 

“Rather than go back at such a crisis,” exclaimed 
Charles, vehemently, “ I would wish to be twenty feet under 
ground. Let me entreat you, gentlemen, to consider what 
it is you ask of me.” 


OR, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 


187 


But vainly did lie argue and entreat. Ilis remonstrances 
were disregarded by his council, which ho at last broke up 
in silent indignation and open and avowed disgust. 

He then had recourse to another expedient. He sent for 
each individual member, and remonstrated with him in pri- 
vate, but with the solitary exception of the Marshal, he 
found one and all inflexible. 

The evening of the day so full of anxiety to Charles 
Edward was drawing nigh, when he hastily summoned 
another council, and an air of the deepest dejection sat upon 
his countenance as he approached the council- table. 

“ Gentlemen,” said the Prince, “ I am prepared to return 
at once with you to Scotland, and,” he added, in a tone of 
mingled bitterness and vexation, “this council will be the 
last I shall ever hold. Henceforward I hold myself respon- 
sible for my actions only to God and my father.” 

Unfortunate Charles Edward ! how little was he aware 
when he consented to allow those timid men to drag him 
away from Derby, that ten thousand French troops, headed 
by his brother Henry, were about to land on the south coast 
of England. Little did lie know that the premier peer of 
Great Britain, whose example would doubtless have been 
followed by most of the influential Catholics, was on the 
very point of declaring himself in his favor; that many 
Welsh gentlemen had already left their homes to join him ; 
and that a messenger was actually on his way from Lord 
Barrymore and Sir Watkin William Wynne, not only assur- 
ing him of their fidelity, but also pledging themselves to 
join him at whatever spot and in any manner he might 
please.* 

It may be considered as highly probable that had the 
Prince really been allowed to push on to London as he 
desired, the dynasty of Great Britain might have been 


* Chambers, p, 56, 


188 THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

changed, and the Stuarts again have held their court at 
Whitehall. 

As it was, the retreat from Derby sealed the fate of 
Charles Edward and his followers. The embarkation of the 
French troops was at once countermanded, and the English 
Jacobites remained in their quiet homes.* 

Then commenced the mournful march from Derby, and 
not till after the dawn of a new day revealed to them the 
familiar objects they had so recently passed did the High- 
landers become aware that their chieftains were leading them 
back, when the rage and vexation to which the dispirited 
men gave free vent almost exceeded that of tlicir broken- 
hearted Prince, the whole army resounding with expressions 
of sorrow and anger. 

Alas ! the case was altered now with the ill-fated Cheva- 
lier. He was like the generality of sanguine persons, who, 
when a reverse of fortune happens, yield to the most terri- 
ble depression. 

“ This change is terrible,” said Maurice to the aged Mar- 
shal, as he watched the Prince, who, miserable and dejected, 
instead of sharing the fatigues of his men on foot as for- 
merly, now lingered gloomily behind till the army was in 
advance of him, riding forward only by fits and starts to 
take his place at the head of the column, and then after 
awhile falling back. 

With the majority of the English Jacobites, the position 
of the Marshal and Maurice was critical enough. At pres- 
ent they could not think of leaving the cause in which they 
had again taken up arms by escaping to France, but decided 
on retreating with the Highlanders to the fastnesses of their 
mountains rather than trust, as some few did and were pro- 
scribed for so doing, to the tender mercies of the Gov- 
ernment. 


* Jesse's Hist. Pretenders, 


OK, T1IE FOSTEK SISTERS. 


189 


CHAPTER VII. 



for life, 
journey. 


OUT OF DANGER. 

SIND what weather to travel in, my dear Marion ! ” 
said Lady Balmerino, as she looked out one 
cold, misty morning on a cheerless and dreary 
prospect. “ It is enough to give us the ague 
My love, take heart and postpone our intended 
You sec we have been kept in ignorance of Ed- 
ward’s illness till the worst was over.” 

And fair Marion Chalmers heard and heeded not. When 
did passionate youth ever listen willingly to the calm reason- 
ing of those of maturcr years ? 

Starting from her seat, she stands beside the elder lady, 
and grasping both hands of Lady Balmerino within her own, 
she exclaims with eager vehemence : 

“If you ever loved me, aunt, you will not thwart my 
wishes. To Edinburgh I must go without delay. As soon 
attempt to stem the torrent in its course as to keep me in 
this place quiet and inactive when Edward is languishing 
and dying, perhaps, amongst strangers.” 

Lady Balmerino made no reply, but ringing a bell, she 
ordered a man-servant to be in readiness, and two horses to 
be saddled for herself and her niece, together with a port- 
manteau containing the necessary requisites for a journey. 

Two hours later, the ladies, escorted by a man on horse- 
back, rode out of the valley in which the houso was situated, 
and in a short time arrived at the town of Inverness, and 
from thence made their way to Edinburgh with what speed 
they best might in the bad weather and unsettled state of 
the country. 

Within a few days of his arrival in Edinburgh, after 
writing the letter I havo spoken of to Marion, Edward St. 


190 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


John had been seized with a dangerous illness, and in the 
hope of leaving his grandson in the care of persons whom 
he already knew, the Marshal had turned his steps to the 
old house in the Edinburgh Close. 

But it had passed into other hands, and nearly all its for- 
mer inmates had gone away, no one kuew whither ; only 
this much could they tell respecting those who had rented 
the Flat in which his family had once occupied apartments, 
namely : that the widow of David Graham had not very 
long survived her husband, and that his daughter had gone 
away and left no trace of her whereabouts. 

Desirous for tidings of his former protegee, the Marshal 
enquired could they direct him to the residence of one Miss 
Lindsey, who was with the Grahams when the old man died ? 

Tho persons to whom ho addressed himself, however, 
remembered nothing beyond having a vague recollection of 
a very haughty and beautiful woman to whom Mrs. Graham 
attributed her husband’s death, and who had gone away 
before the death of tho widow. 

There was no alternative but to leave Edward in the care 
of strangers, with tho hope that as he was willing to pay a 
heavy price he would be well and properly cared for. 

The gloom of the winter afternoon was fast deepening 
into night when Marion and her aunt entered the sick room 
of young St. John. The crisis of his disorder was past, 
but it had left him feeble, emaciated, and worn almost to a 
shadow. So unlike was the spectral form before her to that 
of him whom she had parted from a few months’ since, that 
Marion fairly broke down, and gave way to a fit of hysteric 
weeping, for which she was chided by her much more sen- 
sible aunt. From the moment of their arrival, however, a 
perceptible change for the better ensued. Attention had 
not indeed been wanting, but lie was alone, dying lie at one 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


191 


time thought, amongst strangers, and his heart yearned onco 
again for the society of those lie loved. 

And at length the frail tenure of life, which so long had 
trembled in the balance, was again fairly restored, but with 
each day came an anxious, eager wish, which not even the 
presence of Marion could quell, that he had not been con- 
demned perforce to inaction instead of being on the battle- 
field. 

“ I rejoice that you arc out of its dangers,” said Marion, 
iu reply to his complaint, “though so sorrowful for the 
cause. But consider our anxiety concerning Maurice and 
my uncle, and your good old grandfather; perhaps you may 
see cause yet to rejoice that you are here in Edinburgh.” 

“ Marion is right, Edward,” said Lady Balmerino. ‘ ‘ You 
may see cause yet to be truly thankful for the dispensations 
of Providence, which have decreed that during this sharp 
contest, your maiden sword shall not strike a blow. All 
you have now to do is to reward us for leaving our homes to 
be your nurses by keeping your mind at rest and getting 
well as fast as possible.” 

And slowly but surely the color came back to the thin 
and wasted face, brightness to the eye, and elasticity to the 
step ; and on the very day he first left the house for a breath 
of fresh air on the green slopes beneath the castle walls came 
the news of the defeat at Cullodcn. 

Then, after several days of agonizing suspense, came the 
disastrous news of the good old Marshal’s death, and of the 
flight of Maurice; also, that Lord Balmerino had been 
taken prisoner on the field, and was now on his way by sea 
to London. 

For awhile Edward and his fair companions were stunned 
by the news they had received, the latter sinking beneath 
the shock of tidings which they felt convinced would end, 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


192 

t I 

with regard to Lord Balmcrino, in bringing him to the 
block, whilst Edward, his framo enfeebled by a long and 
severe illness, was but little calculated to preach up the for- 
titude to others which he strangely lacked himself, for mem- 
ory would linger upon old days — the days of his happy, 
reckless childhood — when he, the youngest of the family, 
and the favorite grandson of the Marshal, not unfrcquently 
wov him over to join him in his boyish sports. 

At length, brushing away the tears that stood in his eyes, 
lie tried to play the part of comforter, and avowed his inten- 
tion of escorting them to London immediately. 

“It is impossible, Edward,” said Lady Balmcrino. 
“Why, it is but a few days since you first left the sick 
room. Consider how our distress will be increased should 
you have a relapse and fall ill by the way.” 

“I am getting very strong and am quite well enough to 
travel,” was the reply. 

But his looks belied his words, and remembering that 
they would accomplish the journey far more quickly than 
the unfortunate captive, Lord Balmcrino, he yielded consent 
to the wishes of the ladies, and agreed to postpone his jour- 
ney till threo more days had elapsed. 

And so it happened that the compulsory stay of young 
St. John in Edinburgh had not only, though at the cost of 
a severe illness, saved his life from being forfeit to the law, 
had he even not fallen on the field, but had been the means 
of making him the stay of two defenceless women when 
most they needed protection, and gave him the melancholy 
pleasure of knowing that it would be in his power to soothe 
by his presence the last hours of one of the Marshal’s oldest 
and best-loved friends. 


UR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


193 


CHAPTER VIII. 

TIIE STORY OF A PENITENT. 

EVERAL weeks have passed since the night on 
which the Soeur Madeleine became a resident 
at the chateau, and the hopes which Lady Flor- 
ence had entertained of a speedy reunion with 
those she loved had one after another drifted away. 

Suspense and deferred hope had pressed heavily on tho 
heart of the invalid. She had heard and had wept over the 
account of tho retreat from Derby, of the cruelties of tho 
military ruffian, General Hawley, of the battle of Falkirk ; 
also, that, excepting a few flesh wounds of little import, 
tho Marshal and Maurice were both well, but that, as the 
Princo intended at once to attack the English army, it was 
impossible to return to St. Germains. 

The journey was long, the weather unusually bleak and 
inclement, and unwilling to drag them from the strifo in 
which they were engaged, and resting on the fond delusion 
that the anticipated battle at Cullodcn would reinstate on the 
throne the grandson of the king and queen she had so dearly 
loved, Lady Florence kept her sorrow to herself, concealed 
tho gravity of her malady, hoped she should be spared to sec 
them again, and fought bravely with her illness. 

“Read the letter to me, Sister, and tell me if my Isabel 
is coming soon,” said Lady Florence, placing a letter which 
had just reached her in the hand of the Sister. 

“ Another disappointment,” she had faltered forth when 
the Sister had perused the few lines the note contained. 

Yes, she had looked anxiously for the coming of Isabel, 
but the hard and pitiless weather still prevailed ; it was now 
March, and as intensely cold as in mid-winter. 

17 



194 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“I am better,” thus ran the letter, “ and long to sec you 
once again, to talk with you about happy days yet to come, 
but I am forbidden to travel yet lest my illness should 
return. At the most, however, a few, a very few weeks, 
and once again, my more than mother, I shall behold you. 
Providence has indeed interposed wonderfully in my regard. 
I have now nothing left to wish but the safe and speedy 
return of Maurice and the Marshal, and your own recovery 
to health.” 

And the wind swept in hollow gusts down the hillside, a 
heavy fall of snow had that morning fallen and was already 
crisp on the ground, the hoar-frost had gathered on tho bare 
branches of the creeping plants that garlanded tho windows, 
and the leaden hue of tho sky betokened that ere long there 
would be another snow storm. 

To Lady Florence, the Scour Madeleine had long been all 
in all ; to see her move across the room, to listen to the low 
and gentle tones of her voioe as she read to her, to clasp her 
hand, or lay her throbbing head on her bosom, comforted 
her exceedingly. 

And the Sister, long accustomed to sickness and death, 
knew full well that the end was not far off. 

Without the chateau, all around was cheerless and deso- 
late ; within, warmth and comfort ; the doctor had paid his 
visit, the priest, in case of danger, had anointed the sick 
lady with the holy oils, and drawing the curtains over the 
windows in order to shut out the dreary aspect of the 
weather, and stirring the wood fire into a cheerful blaze, 
the Sister sat her down to read or talk, according as her 
patient wished. 

A strong feeling of affection had drawn tho hearts of these 
two together. Since last I told you of the Sister of Char- 
ity, it had increased with every remaining day, so that the 
Lady Florence could not bear her out of her sight. 


OK, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


195 


Very often had she pressed her to talk about her youth, 
of the cause that had led her to seek a convent home. She 
would merely say, with a soft smile, and mayhap a touch of 
sadness in her voice the while, “ It was my vocation, 
Madam.” 

“True, Sister, but there is oftentimes some cause that 
arises on a sudden which manifests this vocation, and shows 
God’s chosen ones it is His will they should be wholly His.” 

When she said these words, a bright spot glowed on the 
Sister’s pale cheek, but she made no reply. The Lady 
Florence said no more just then. She saw there was a 
deep-seated repugnance in the Sister to speak in any way, 
however trifling, of her early life. 

But when sleep rested on her own eyelids, and the Soeur 
Madeleine was alone with self, then, the better spirit within 
her, doomed to do mortal combat with that fierce one which 
strove, ever and anon, to obtain the mastery over her, vis- 
ited her with self-reproach. 

“ To-morrow, to-morrow ; yes, it shall be done ere another 
sun shall set, the rising of which she may never behold. It 
is the fire yet smouldering within my heart, ready to be 
fanned into a flame, which seals my lips. Have I trod thus 
far the rugged path, and yet do my sluggish feet falter at 
the last step ? Have I extended my hand with loving haste 
to touch the thorny crown, and yet hesitate to take it finally 
within my grasp, lest one thorn of those which pierced my 
Saviour’s brow should, for a brief period, lacerate my sinful 
heart ? Shall I leave this place with half my work, by far 
the greater half, undone, for this hesitation shows me self 
is not yet conquered? Ah! no; it shall be done before 
to-morrow’s sun has set.” 

A restless movement on the part of the invalid disturbed 
the Sister’s musings. She rose and moistened her feverish 


19G 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


lips with a cooling draught, shook up her pillow, kissed the 
throbbing brow, replenished the fire with fresh logs, and, 
advancing to the window, raised the curtain to look out on 
the dreary scene without, 

Cold and cheerless, a white waste of country as far as the 
eye could reach. Looming darkly in the distance stands 
the Palace, on the summit of the hill which skirted the 
fields, till it terminated in the valley beneath. 

Tho usually impassible and beautiful face wears a sad 
smile as she gazes out into the desolate night, and as she 
lets the curtain fall into its place she says to herself : 

“ It is well for me, my God, that Thou hast led me here, 
or I had lacked the strength to keep my hand at the plough 
without looking back again.” 

Tho Socur Madeleine was well used to hours of watching. 
Her life was a hard one, as all know who arc acquainted 
with the duties, and who is not, of a Sister of Charity ? 

Physically, she was not unfitted for the work to which 
she had devoted herself in a spirit of penance. Thus, when 
the grey dawn of the bleak, March morning streamed into 
the room, it found her little couch unpressed, and herself 
seated by the fire, calmly reading the life of tho holy man 
who founded the admirable institute to which sho belonged. 

The earlier portion of the night had been spent in rigid 
commune with self, in long and earnest prayer and peniten- 
tial tears. The morning found her composed and cheerful, 
her beautiful countenance radiant with a joy like unto that 
of Magdalen of old, when sho knelt at tho Master’s feet and 
bathed them with her tears. 

“And how do you find yourself this morning, dearest 
Madam,” said the Sister, on the awaking of the invalid. 
“ Your night’s rest has been almost unbroken, and you seem 
free from pain.” 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


197 


“Better, yes, bettqr, my dear Sister Madeleine. I feel 
altogether refreshed.” 

“I rejoice to hear it. You shall have your chocolate, 
and then 'when your morning devotions are over, as we shall 
spend an hour or two quietly together without interruption, 
I will 

“ Ah, I know what you are going to say. You will read 
to me. IIow much I thank you for cheering my long hours 
of sickness. You read so well ; your voice so low and soft, 
that, like the gentle breeze of a summer day, it lulls me to 
a delicious sense of rest and quiet.” 

“ No, I am not going to read to you this morning. I will 
tell you a story instead.” 

“ I thank you, dear Sister. And what shall the story be 
about ? ” said the aged lady, much in the tone of a child 
when full of eager expectation. 

“ It shall be the story of a Penitent.” 

“The story of a Penitent! Well, I shall prepare for 
something very interesting, I assure you. You are going 
to tell me the history of some great personage, I expect? ” 

“ Oh, no. It shall be the history of a person far from 
great ; only of an obscure individual, whose heart had been 
the abiding place of many evil passions, but who at last, 
like Magdalen of old, was drawn by love and repentance to 
the feet of the Crucified.” 

“ Ah, I see ; you have a devotion to that saint yourself, 
for you arc Soour Madeleine. Well, here is Annetto with 
my chocolate, then I will say my morning prayers, and 
afterwards I will listen to the story.” 

Whilst Lady Florence sipped her chocolate) the Sister par- 
took of her own simple breakfast j then the lady performed 
her morning devotions, after which her eager — 

“Now, Sister, I am quite ready, if you are ready also,’* 
brought the latter to her side. 17 * 


198 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


She had put self quite away, you know ; that was the com- 
pact she had made with her God during the long and silent 
hours of her watch last night. So she drew a chair to the 
bedside, and placed it so that her pale, lovely face was not 
at all in the shade ; the inmost workings of her mind were 
about to be laid bare, and why hide the countenance lest its 
expression should betray the emotion of her heart, when her 
own lips were about to make all manifest to her auditor ? 

“ I am about to tell you, dear Madam,” began she, “ a 
tale of pride and passion, of baffled hope, of jealousy and 
hatred. I shall try and be very brief. She of whom I am 
about to speak was caressed and loved by those around her ; 
she was very beautiful in form and feature, and vain, too, 
of her charms ; and as she merged from youth to woman- 
hood, she conceived the idea that all with whom she came in 
contact must bow down and give way before her ; that her 
face alone must win her the possession of rank, wealth, and 
position ; her ambition was equal to her pride ; and to gain 
these perishable advantages, she trod beneath her feet every 
obstacle that presented itself ; and guided by the evil spirit 
by which she was possessed, she scrupled at nothing ; she 
set at naught the most intimate and dearest ties ; she was 
prepared to sacrifice and destroy, if they militated against 
what she considered her own well-being, everything that 
offered opposition to her will. 

“She was one of those unhappy ones who appear as if 
they were sent upon earth as a warning to others ; her pas- 
sions were unbridled, unrestrained by reason or guided by 
religion ; consequently, they knew no medium oither in love 
or hatred ; she loved, indeed, with all the ardor of her fiery, 
impetuous nature, and she hated fiercely; her pride was 
indomitable, and was the master passion that ruled her 
entire life. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


199 


“At last, out of Ilis great mercy, God saw fit to stop 
this woman’s career of wickedness by an awful calamity, of 
which her own base pride was the cause. For some time it 
still prevailed, though mingled with remorse; therefore, she 
shrank away and dwelt alone ; she would not see those 
whose hearts yet turned towards her ; she would not brook 
their presence, feeling it a silent reproach to herself.” 

Here the Sister for a moment paused, for the Lhdy Flor- 
ence had started as the Sister had uttered the last words; 
but she made no comment ; therefore she continued : 

“ But one who was an angel of goodness would not allow 
her to rest in the solitude she had chosen ; she sought her 
out, came unbidden to her home, careless of her haughty, 
insolent demeanor, striving to work on the barren soil of 
that proud woman’s heart. 

“At first she was rudely repulsed; the servants were 
ordered to deny her. Poor, humble-minded soul ! she 
heeded not the insult, but watched and waited till she met 
her in the road near her dwelling. 

“ ‘ I pray you let me sec you. Do not deny my request,’ 
said she, following the quickened steps of this erring sister. 

“ * Nay, have I not told you T will see no one? I will 
not have my solitude disturbed,’ and with haughty gesture 
she motioned her away. 

“ Day after day, however, she repeated her visit, till after 
a time she was expected, borne with, endured, rather than 
welcomed, as one bears quietly with something disagreeable 
which wo cannot lay aside. 

“ At last, this woman, in God’s own good time, came to 
be a sort of necessity to her erring sister ; she grew in fact 
to like her somewhat, though the proud, unregcncratc heart > 
still rebelled at its association with this humble, simple soul. 
But the end was not as yet, 


200 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“ la course of time she was visited by sickness long and 
grievous. Ah ! it is the ordeal througli which many have 
been purified. She was brought, as it were, to the very 
gates of death, and was carefully nursed and tended by this 
patient, faithful woman. 

“ On one night, when her disorder was at its crisis, she lay 
to all outward appearance for many hours unconscious ; she 
heard those around her bed declare that in a very few hours 
she must cease to live. 

“ So reduced was she, her state so like unto that of death, 
that she could not lift a finger or make a sign, but the whole 
of her life lay mapped out before her; not a guilty word, 
or thought, or action, escaped her remembrance. 

“ In that awful moment, with the soul trembling, as it 
were, on the brink of eternity, and seeming already about 
to appear before the judgment-seat of God, she made a vow 
in her heart that if time might yet be given her to make 
atonement for the errors of a still young but misspent life, 
she would dedicate the rest of her days to God in the service 
of the poor and suffering. 

“ Suddenly, as by a miracle, a new life was infused into 
her exhausted frame; from that moment she steadily recov- 
ered, to tho astonishment of her medical attendant, and of 
all who had beheld the state to which she had been reduced. 

“ After many weeks, she rose from her couch, the shadow 
indeed of her former self, for she was still pale, emaciated, 
feeble. 

“ But I spoke rightly when I said a new life had been 
given to this woman. It was so in many ways. The pleas- 
ures she had loved, the admiration she had courted, she no 
longer sighed for. She only awaited the perfect recovery 
of her health to give herself with her whole heart to God. 

“ She had learned to love the woman who had sought her 


OR, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 


201 


so earnestly, and felt no small pain at breaking out the truth 
that henceforth in another land she must live and die. Not 
of the Catholic faith, this simple-minded woman could not 
sec tchy she, for whom she had prayed and wept, and who at 
last had learned abundantly to return her love, could not 
rest content where she then was, leading as she did a quiet 
and retired life. But her decision had been made on the 
night whereon she had stood on the verge of eternity. She 
was now not her own, but her Maker’s, happy in the thought 
that He, in His boundless mercy, had suffered her to live 
and make atonement for the past ; her renewed health and 
strength she regarded as the compact ratified between her- 
self and God. She had caused, by the wilfulncss of her 
pride, even the death of one who would have loved her, and 
with a heart wounded through and through by repentance, 
and softened by love, she seeks to make reparation for the 
past under the garb of a Sister of Charity, and” — 

“Ah, Sister, Sister, it is of Margaret you arc telling me. 
Nay, -nay, can my suspicions be correct? Ah, my God, am 
I so happy ? ” 

Encircling Lady Florence with her arms, the Sister ten- 
derly embraced her, whilst her tears fell in torrents down 
her face. 

Then the lady put her gently aside, gazed fixedly upon 
her face, and said : 

“ Ah, yes, it is the same countenance, but altered too 
because of the lapse of ten long years. And why should T 
hesitate to say tho truth because Margaret and the Scour 
Madeleine arc, and yet arc not , the same? I could reproach 
you, too, that you have kept me in ignorance so long as to 
who you were. My own lips, my Margaret, should never 
have revived the painful past, nor should you have spoken 
as you have done but now.” 


202 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


“ Dearest Lady Florence, never call me Margaret again ; 
let me ever be to you the Soeur Madeleine ; the name of 
Margaret alone brings back sad memories; and now,” added 
the Sister, kneeling by the bedside, and taking the lady’s 
hand within her own, “ I would say a few words more, and 
then for ever the past must be as a sealed book between us. 

“She of whom I have been telling you was my gentle 
aunt, Janet Graham. When I bade her adieu, I traveled 
straight to France, and at once sought and obtained admis- 
sion into a convent of Sisters of Charity, resolving at some 
future time to make myself known to you, for reasons which 
must be obvious to you. However, my intentions have been 
frustrated, and I need not hesitate to say to you , to whom 
all the past is known, that I could not have entered the 
chateau had he who was the object of my misplaced attach- 
ment been here. Moreover, I felt that I must leave you 
soon after my first arrival, till the illness of poor Isabel and 
the. continued stay of your grandson in Scotland made me 
feel that I might with perfect safety remain. 

“ You have often asked me to speak to you of my early 
life. Alas I from the very thought of doing so I shrank 
with horror ; and yet the determination which I made when 
I again entered the chateau was not carried out whilst my 
lips remained scaled as to the past. I had not conquered 
self till I had made known to you who I was, and removed 
the veil which had screened me from you all these long 
years. Now I have told you all. I wish to be again in 
your eyes only the Soeur Madeleine.” 

“ As one who was lost and is found, more precious and 
dear to me in your new life, my child, than the Isabel who, 
by her very nature free from violent passions, never went 
astray. How good is God to send you to me, my love ! ” 
added Lady Florence, gazing fondly on the upturned, beau- 


OR, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 


203 


tiful face, now glowing with a supremo happiness not born 
of earth. “ I mourned for the presence of one who loved 
me, dearest, unconscious who was by my side. I wept for 
you, prayed for you, grieved for you, and God has sent you 
to me — you, even one of his cherished ones. Ah, my child, 
my Margaret — once more let me call you by the old name — 
no happiness can surpass that which now I feel.” 

Leave we Lady Florence and the Scour Madeleine, for 
words of mine cannot express the joy of the former, nor the 
holy and calm repose which reigned in the heart of the Sis- 
ter. We arc told that angels rejoice over the return of the 
sinner more than over the ninety-nine just that need not 
repentance. 

Verily, the angels themselves might almost have envied a 
happiness too great for earth. 



204 . 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER IX. 

TIIE VETERAN MARSHAL — SANS PEUU ET SANS REPUOCUE. 

There was no lack of bravery there, 

No spai'o of blood or breath, 

For one to two our foes wo dar’d, 

For freedom or for death. 

[ Jacobite Song. 

CONSIDER the coming strife by far the most 
critical in which your Highness has yet been 
engaged,” said the Marshal St. John to Charles 
Edward the day previous to their march for 
Cullodcn Moor. “I agree with Lord George Murray, 
and adviso a night march, take the English soldiers unawares, 
and attack their camp in the dead of night.” 

Bearing in mind the unequal struggle in which he was 
about to engage, the disparity in point of numbers — for tho 
troops in command of the Duke of Cumberland nearly 
doubled the soldiers of the Prince — also, that the latter had 
a fleet moving along the coast laden with provisions and 
other necessary articles, tho Prince eagerly listened to the 
proposal, and it was decided that they should bo on the 
march so as to reach the enemy’s camp by two in the 
morning. 

But, alas! during the whole of that day, one small loaf 
of the coarsest description was ail that could be doled out to 
the unfortunate Highlanders. Its ingredients (for the 
remains of one of these loaves, or binnoclts, have been 
handed down to posterity by the care of a Jacobite family) 
seem to have been formed of the husks of oats and a coarse 
kind of dust such as is found on the floors of a mill. 

As night drew on, the almost famished men not unfre- 
quently straggled out of the ranks in search of food, and 




Oltj THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


205 


their only reply to tho expostulations of their officers was, 
that they might shoot them if they pleased, for they would 
sooner die than starve any longer. Many of those who 
remained, overcome by hunger and their fatigue, declared 
they were unable to proceed, and throwing themselves 
beneath tho trees, fell sound asleep. 

Thus, they were still some four miles from the English 
army, when the roll of drums burst upon the cars of their 
astonished commanders, and they hastened to retreat until 
they could reassemble their scattered forces. 

At a still early hour they were again on Culloden Moor, 
and were joined by Macdonald of Keppoch, and the Frasers. 
Charles Edward himself, completely overcome by his night’s 
march, had laid down to rest after partaking of a slight 
refreshment of bread and whiskey, when Maurice aroused 
him with the startling information that the English cavalry 
were within two miles of them. 

Immediately all was confusion. The sound of the cannon 
gathered together the still sleeping Highlanders, the drums 
were beat, and the pipes began to play the gatherings of 
their respective clans, but, alas ! the majority of both officers 
and men were scattered in all directions. 

And now the battle began by the artillery of the two 
armies pointing their fire at each other. That of the Prince 
availed but little, whilst the fire of the English army car- 
ried desolation and horror into the ranks of the insurgents, 
Charles himself narrowly escaping ; he was bespattered with 
mud thrown up by the balls, his horse was wounded, and 
one of his attendants fell dead by his side. 

This 27th of April, 1746, was a sadly unpropitious morn- 
ing even in point of weather, for a strong northeast wind, 
accompanied by a blinding shower of sleet and snow, blew 
the smoke of the artillery in the faces of the mountaineers, 
18 


206 ' THE LIMERICK VETERAN ; 

and led on by the brave Lord Murray, sword in hand, the 
Camerons and Stewarts of Appin, rendered furious by the 
galling fire, and heedless of the smoke and hail which swept 
full in their faces, rush against the enemy, and immediately 
raising one loud shout, the rest of the clans brandishing 
their broadswords, dashed impetuously against the fixed 
bayonets of their opponents. 

Making themselves masters of two pieces of cannon, they 
still dashed madly forwards, breaking through the first line 
and coming in contact with the second, which the Duke had 
strengthened, fearing the onset of the clans. 

A compact mass of armed men were they, drawn up three 
deep, the front rank on their knees, the second bending for- 
ward, the third standing upright, carrying death before 
them by means of their destructive fire. 

Then all were mingled in the wildest confusion, with but 
scant distinction of regiment or of clan. What course 
before them but to retreat? though here and there indeed, 
reckless of their lives, a few of them dashed madly forwards, 
not one of whom returned to tell the tale of his defeat. 

The wild valor of the mountaineers on that dreadful day 
was indeed no match for the steady determination of the 
English forces. The tide of the battle might still have won 
the day for Charles had the clan Macdonald done their duty. 
Placed on the left instead of the post of honor, “the right,” 
the men fired their muskets instead of making an onset to 
the charging cry of “Claymore,” vainly shouted by the 
Duke of Perth. 

“ It rests with you to make the left wing the right,” he 
exclaimed. “ Onward to the fight ! and proud shall I be to 
bear your name hereafter.” 

In vain, too, did the gallant Alexander, chieftain of Ivep- 
poch, shout to them to follow him ; exclaiming, in the agony 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


207 


of the moment, “My God! have the very children of my 
tribe forsaken me ? ” as, with a drawn sword in one hand 
and a pistol in the other, he, too, rushed onwards to the 
fight. 

Then ensued a scene of the wildest confusion. Clans and 
regiments still mingled together ; and, in the midst of a 
destructive fire, a veteran officer, dearly loved and honored 
by Charles Edward, bare-headed, his white locks streaming 
in the wind, and with sword in hand, stood side by side 
with the valiant Kcppoch. Onward, still onward, the brave 
veteran forces his way, long after Keppoch had been brought 
to the ground by a musket shot, until he found himself 
driven by the fury of the fight towards a few straggling 
bushes that skirted the moor. Then there was a crashing 
of the withered, stunted shrubs, a plashing of blood over 
the snowdrift which covered them, and, with uplifted arms, 
the Marshal veteran of Limerick craved “ God’s mercy on 
his soul;” then, he feebly murmured, “Maurice, my boy, 
take care of yourself — think not of me,” and fell senseless 
on the ground. 

lie had received a severe blow on the head from a sword, 
accompanied by the words from the lips of the miscreant 
Hawley : 

“Traitor, at last, then, you have paid the penalty of your 
treason to your lawful King.” 

Reckless of their own safety, Colonel St. John, aided by 
the faithful Dugald, who had been filled with surprise on 
witnessing the intrepid conduct of the Marshal, rushed for- 
ward and succeeded in bearing his inanimate form from the 
field of slaughter. For it deserved not to be called a field 
of battle; and the confusion of the Highland clans, whose 
retreat must else have been converted into a disastrous rout, 
was averted by the French and Irish piquets who covered 
them by a close and continuous fire. 


208 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


In tlic most intense agony, the Prince had witnessed, 
from the eminence on which he stood, his aged friend, the 
veteran St. John, severely wounded ; and now, with large 
tears pouring down his face, he was doomed to behold the 
flight of his friends and followers and the destruction of his 
dearest hopes. At last, his tutor, Sir Thomas Sheridan, 
who had accompanied him from Prance, prevailed on him 
to seek safety in flight with the remainder of his forces, part 
of whom had left the field with something like order, their 
pipes playing and colors flying. 

Leaving his unfortunate grandfather in the care of Dugald, 
Maurice had sought the Prince, and, as soon as lie had seen 
unhappy Charles hurried from the fatal field, lie returned to 
the spot in which lie had left the Marshal, strapped him to 
his own horse, and galloped off in order to make the best of 
his way to a place of shelter. 

The unfortunate men who took the road to Inverness, in 
consequence of having to cross the moor, were speedily over- 
taken, and the five miles between that place and the field 
of carnage presented a terrible scene of slaughter, corpses 
and blood.* 

The brutal Duke of Cumberland suffered the wounded 
men to remain on the field of battle, stripped of their clothes, 
from Wednesday until three o’clock on the afternoon of Fri- 
day, when he sent detachments to kill all who wero still 
alive. The strength of a large number of these unfortu- 
nates had resisted the effects of the constant falls of rain, 

* By this time, saj-s the writer of a contemporary letter, our liorso 
and dragoons had closed on them from both wings, and then began 
a general carnage. The moor was covered with blood, and our men, 
what with killing the enemy, dabbling their feet in the blood and 
splashing it about one another, looked like so many butchers .— Scott s 
Magazine . 

Not contented with th<? blood shed in the heat of action, they tra- 
versed the Held after the battle, and massacred those miserable 
wretches who lay maimed and expiring, some of the olHeers them- 
selves assisting,— Smollett’s History of England . Vol. 3, j>. 229. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS 


209 


and the ferocious and vindictive Duke not only passed 
through this terrible field of blood with his staff of officers, 
but took a part in the tragedy. Fair complexioned as to 
countenance and bloated in form, he rode calmly amongst 
the ranks of the dying and the dead, and perceiving a young 
man, by name Charles Traver, who had held a commission 
as Lieutenant-Colonel, lying wounded on the ground, but 
who raised himself as he approached, he inquired of him to 
whom he belonged. * 

“ To the Prince,” replied he. 

“Shoot that insolent scoundrel! Major Wolfe,” said the 
butcher Duke, to an officer who was standing by. 

“My commission is at the disposal of your lloyal High- 
ness, but I cannot consent to become an executioner,” said 
the Major. 

Ilis commands were also ineffectual with two other offi- 
cers whom he requested to shoot the unfortunate High- 
lander, but, perceiving a common soldier, lie asked him if 
his piece was loaded, and the man replying in the affirma- 
tive, his command that lie should shoot the young officer 
was at once put into execution. 

How widely different was the conduct of the inhuman 
Cumberland and the English after the battle of Culloden, to 
the humanity and consideration of Charles Edward and his 
gallant followers towards their wounded enemies, when they 
were victors at Preston Pans and Falkirk. 

Havoc and desolation were alike carried into the castle of 
the chieftain and the hut of the peasant. For penetrating 
through the Highlands, the Duke and his diabolical Com- 
mander-in-chief, General Hawley, advanced to Fort Augus- 
tus, laid waste the country with fire and sword, and women 
and children, whose husbands and brothers had been mur- 


* Jesse’s Memoirs of the Pretenders, &c, 

J8* 


\ 


210 THE limerick veteran; 

dcred, and whose houses had been burned to the ground, 
were turned out naked upon the barren heath to starve, and 
were seen shivering in the clefts of the rocks dying of cold 
and hunger. 

Amongst the first acts of severity <?f the Duke of Cumber- 
land was to hang up thirty-six deserters from the royal 
army. Nineteen wounded officers belonging to the High- 
land army were also dragged out of a wood in which they 
had taken refuge, the greater number shot, and the remain- 
der who showed any signs of life had their brains knocked 
out by the brutal soldiery, whilst a hut containing a num- 
ber of wounded Highlanders was set fire to, and not only 
was everyone bayonetted who attempted to escape, but when 
the building was burnt to the ground the remains of thirty 
men were found blackened by the flames.* 


*“Human nature,” says Mr. Jesse, “revolts at such sickening 
details. The condition of the prisoners who w r ere at sea was even 
worse than at land. They were thrust, half naked, into the holds of 
the different vessels, where they slept on the stones which formed 
the ballast; their solo allowance of drinka bottloof cold water, their 
daily food ten ounces o' an inferior sort of meal. Several of them 
were put into one of the .scotch kirks, stripped naked, and left to die 
of their wounds; and though one of the prisoners was a surgeon, his 
instruments were taken man him to prevent him from dressing the 
wounds of his companions. 

“ Several of these men were put on board the .Tane, at Leith, and 
left to die in lingering tortures; oiliers were sent out to work as 
slaves in the Rarbadoes. 

“These merciless inhumanities were independent of the legal exe- 
cutions; the details of the demoniac barbarities of the Duke of Cum- 
berland and his followers would appear too dreadful to be credible 
were they no hilly substantiated on the most undoubted authority. 
— Jesse's Memoirs of the Pretenders and their Adherents. 



OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


211 


CHAPTER X. 

THE 1'UGITIVE PRINCE. 

the chances of the day were observed by 
faithful adherents of the Prince to go so 
ly against his cause, the French and Irish 
ps had vigorously exerted themselves in 
helping him make good his retreat to the western coast, 
with the hope that he might there find a French vessel 
which might convey him to France. 

It was afterwards decided that the greater majority of the 
party should separate, in order the more perfectly to ensure 
safety. 

The anguish which was felt by Maurice St. John when 
lie witnessed the death of the Marshal may be better con- 
ceived than described. lie was soothed, however, by the 
reflection that the venerated remains of one so honored and 
beloved had not been left exposed to outrage on that field 
of carnage, but had received interment at the hands of 
Dusald and himself. Rut the dread that the talc he had to 
tell might possibly end the days of Lady Florence filled his 
heart with sorrow, whilst his mind was also distressed as to 
the fate of his brother Edward, whom severe illness had 
prevented from taking up arms in the fatal field of Cullodcn. 

Thirty thousand pounds was the amount offered for the 
capture of Charles Edward. An enormous sum was this 
wherewith to tempt the poor Highlanders, amongst whoin 
his lot was for a time cast. The English cavalry were on 
his track, the troops of the Duke were scouring the High- 
lands, and ships of war were cruising along the coast to inter- 
cept any vessel which might carry him away. 

Nursed amidst the luxuries which wealth bestows, and 



212 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


reared in the soft air of an Italian climate, it was a wonder- 
ful and strange thing that Charles Edward could brave and 
endure the unexampled privations which it was his lot to 
undergo when fleeing from rock to rock, from island to 
island, to escape from his persecutors; very often in danger 
of being drowned, exposed to the fury of the elements, shel- 
tered for a while in a poor hut in Bcnbceala, the door of 
which was so low that, as the Prince was tall of stature, 
they had to dig below it before lie could enter. 

* X % * * % ^ 

“ Yes, that will do. I quite admire the disguise, for it 
is perfect ; and now I have put the last touch, I am con- 
vinced it will defy detection.” 

She who spoke those words was a lovely Scottish maiden 
of not more than eighteen years of age. Small of stature 
was she, but her form full of grace and symmetry, her black 
eyes sparkled with intelligence, and her features, without 
being strictly regular, were nevertheless handsome ; a pro- 
fusion of chcsnut ringlets clustered over her neck and shoul- 
ders, and her countenance beamed with an expression of 
innocent pleasure at the success of her handicraft. The 
person whom she addressed was to outward appearance a 
servant maid, awkward and ungainly enough in that strange 
attire ; for before the maiden stands the unfortunate heir to 
three kingdoms, arrayed in a flowered cotton gown, a quilted 
petticoat, white apron and a cloak of dun camlet, made after 
the Irish fashion with a hood, which the damsel had just dis- 
posed to her satisfaction. 

This maiden was the brave and energetic heroine renowned 
for having aided the Prince in his escape from his enemies, 
and known to posterity as the celebrated Flora Macdonald. 
With one attendant whom Charles had attached to his ser- 


213 


OE, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

vice, she had embarked with him in a boat on the way to 
Skye. 

The journey was not without its perils, from which, how- 
ever, the little party escaped, and safely arrived at the Kil- 
bride in the Isle of Skye. She warned the Prince that she 
must leave him alone on the beach whilst she went to the 
house of her kinswoman, the Lady Margaret Macdonald, to 
apprise her of his safe arrival. 

Attended then by Neil Mackcckan, she proceeded to the 
house of this lady, and, entering the apartment in which she 
was seated, discovered, to her intense alarm, that Lady Mar- 
garet was not alone ; and her heart beat more wildly than 
was its wont when she discovered that the Lady’s guest was 
Lieutenant Macleod, whose militia was in the ncigborhood, 
and who had three of his men in the house at that very time. 

With the tact of a clever woman, however, Flora mastered 
her agitation, spolip of indifferent subjects, then answered 
with composure the questions he put to her, and contrived 
to play her part while the dinner was being served, though 
her little heart beat wildly enough, without exciting the sus- 
picions of the inquisitive officer. Another visitor, too, was 
present, of a very different stamp ; a generous, warm- 
hearted old Jacobite, as enthusiastic in the cause of Charles 
Edward as was Flora herself, and this was Alexander Mac- 
donald of Kingsburgh. 

Flora felt that it was impossible to withdraw Lady Mac- 
donald from the room without exciting suspicion, so she had 
recourse to by-play, and, affecting admiration for some paint- 
ings in the room, she lured the old gentleman to her side, 
and put him in possession of her secret. 

“Is it possible! here, in Skye, and the militia in the 
place ? ” 

“ It is ; watch an opportunity and let Lady Margaret 


214 


TIIE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


know of Lis perilous position.” Then, raising licr voice, 
she again expressed her admiration of the landscape scene 
before her, and approaching Maclcod, asking him if he was 
a connoisseur in works of art, she managed to break off his 
conversation with Lady Macdonald, and drew him to the 
further end of the apartment. The held was now clear, and 
obedient to a sign from Kingsburgh, the Lady, in wonder- 
ing amazement, followed him from the room. 

“I shall surprise you, Madam, by what I am going to 
say. Miss Flora has just informed me that the Prince, God 
bless him, is now on the beach.” 

A loud scream from Lady Macdonald followed Ivings- 
burgh’s announcement. 

“ Let me implore of you to be calm, Madam.” 

‘ ‘ We shall all be ruined ! I and my family will be ruined 
for ever.” 

“ Not so, Madam. I am an old man, and quite willing 
to take the poor, hunted down Prince to the shelter of my 
own home. I have but one life to lose, and it matters but 
little whether I die with a halter round my neck, or whether 
I await a natural death which, iu the course of nature, can- 
not be long distant. There is one thing, however, in which 
your Ladyship’s help will be of use.” 

“ In what way, Kingsburgh ?” 

“Send immediately for Donald Iloy, who was wounded 
at Cullodcn. He is at present on this very spot ; let him 
be in readiness to take the Prince to Portree, and from 
thence to Macleod of Raasay, who is devoted to his inter- 
ests ; meanwhile, I will myself go iu search of him.” 

Time flew on leaden wings to Flora when alone with her 
dangerous companion. The company of a young and fasci- 
nating girl doubtless had its charms even with the officer of 
the militia, but thirty thousand pounds was a stake at issue, 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


215 


which made him and others who were on the lookout exceed- 
ingly keen. The slightest noise made her tremble, and yet 
withal she had to keep up a running fire of small talk to 
beguile the time and conceal her agitation. 

At length she found she could take her departure without 
exciting suspicion, and Lady Macdonald, taking the cue 
when she approached to bid her farewell, affected to be 
extremely loth to part with her. 

“ When last you were here, my dear Flora,” said she, 
“ you promised that the next time you came you would pay 
me a long visit.” 

“ To-day it is impossible, dear Lady Margaret. You 
must hold me excused, for I much wish to see my mother 
and be secure in my own home in these troubled times.” 

“ Well, understand, now, I shall positively lay an embargo 
on you the next time you come to Mugstat, and I shall com- 
pel you to pay me a longer visit.” 

Then, kissing her hostess and extending her hand to the 
officer, she departed, attended by a maid and Neil Mac- 
keckan, all three being on horseback. 

They had not been long on the road before they overtook 
the Prince and Kingsburgh, whom they passed at a brisk 
trot, Flora urging them to increased speed in hopes that 
Charles might escape observation. 

His awkward appearance and masculine gait, however, 
attracted her maid’s notice. 

“ I think,” said she, “I never saw so impudent a woman 
in my life as the wench Kingsburgh is walking with. She’s 
like a man dressed up in woman’s clothes. See what long 
strides the jade takes and how awkwardly she manages her 
petticoats.” 

Small wonder the Prince attracted the maid’s notice ; his 
strides were unnaturally long, and when fording a small 


21 G 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


brook which ran across the road, lie held up his woman’s 
garb so awkwardly as to bring upon him Kingsburgh’s 
remonstrances. Charles promised to walk with more care 
for the future, but in crossing the next brook he fell into 
the other extreme, and suffered his dress to float in the 
water. 

Kingsburgh’s fears were then so thoroughly aroused that, 
striking out of tho highroad, he took the Princo across the 
hills to his house, which he did not reach till eleven o’clock, 
wet to the skin with a drenching rain, and preceded by Flora 
and her companions. 

Leading Charles into a spacious hall, Kingsburgh desired 
a servant to tell her Mistress that some friends had accom- 
panied him home, and that she must come down and receive 
them ; but tho lady was already in bed and sent an apology 
begging that they would make themselves welcome to all 
that was in the house. 

No sooner had the servant left the room, than in rushed 
her little girl, exclaiming : 

“Oh, Mamma, Papa has brought home the most odd, 
mucklc, ill-shaken wife I have ever seen, and he’s taken 
her into tho hall, too ! ” 

A few minutes later, and Kingsburgh himself entered 
the room, urging her to be quick and dress as speedily as 
possible. Ilis hasty and mysterious manner led her at once 
to suspect that he had brought home with him some person 
of rank and distinction involved in the late troubles, and she 
hastened to complete her toilet, sending her little girl for 
her keys of which she was in want, but the child soon 
returned, exclaiming : 

“ I cannot fetch them, Mamma ; the * mucklc woman ’ is 
walking up and down the hall, and Pm afraid of her.” 

Full of curiosity, the lady at once hastened to the hall 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


217 


herself. When she entered, the Prince was seated at tho 
farther cud, and rising, he advanced to meet her, taking 
her by the hand and kissing her on the cheek. 

You may be sure she was both alarmed and surprised 
when she felt her cheek rubbed by the rough beard of a 
man. 

Not ono word did either of them speak, but the lady felt 
sure her suspicions were correct, and hastening to her hus- 
band, sho said : 

“I am positively certain, Kingsburgh, that that pre- 
tended female is no woman at all, but some unfortunate gen- 
tleman who has escaped from Culloden ; has he brought any 
news of the Prince ? ” 

“My dear wife,” said Kingsburgh, taking her hands 
within his own, “ it is the Prince himself .” 

“We are all ruined ! we shall all be hanged ! ” was the 
reply. 

“ Never mind, wife, we can die but once, and if we die 
for this, then we die in a good cause, for we are performing 
an act of charity and humanity. Now go and get ready, as 
soon as possible, eggs, butter, cheese and whatever else you 
have in the house.” 

“ Eggs, butter and cheese ! ” reiterated the lady, with a 
slight laugh ; “ a fine supper for a Prince, truly.” 

“ Our supper, wife, will be a feast to him. You do not 
know how hard he has fared of late; besides, if we could 
mako a grand meal of it, we dare not ; the suspicions of the 
servants would at once be roused. Make haste with what 
you have got, and come to supper yourself.” 

“ Me come to supper !” she exclaimed, “ I ken naething 
how to behave before Majesty.” 

“You will have to come, wife,” was Kingsburgh’s reply. 
“ The Prince would not eat a bit without you, and he is so 
19 


218 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


affable and easy, that you will find it quite a pleasant mat- 
ter to be in his company.” 

With Flora on his right hand and Lady Kiugsburgh on 
his left sat Charles at supper. He made an excellent meal, 
four eggs, some collops, and bread and butter being rapidly 
dispatched, together with two bottles of ale. 

When the supper was finished, he pulled out of his pocket 
a small pipe worn to a mere stump, and as black as ink. “ I 
have been a great sufferer from toothache,” said lie, “ and 
I find relief from the uso of tobacco.” 

Then the ladies withdrew, but the small hours of the 
night had set in beforo Charles Edward and his worthy host 
prepared for rest. Conversation on tho troubled past and 
the uncertain future beguiled the time ; he had smoked to 
his heart’s content and the punch bowl had been many times 
replenished. 

Tho unfortunate Prince had for so long a time been 
deprived of the comfort of a bed, that his sleep was pro- 
longed for no less than ten hours, and when he at length 
arose, it was decided that he should quit the house in the 
same costume in which he had entered, in order not to awa- 
ken suspicion on the part of tho servants. 

As soon as he had finished dressing, Lady Kingsburgh 
and Flora were summoned to put on his cap and apron and 
arrange his hood, he laughing heartily the while, as if he 
had been intent merely on a frolic. 

“Oh, Miss,” said he, “you have forgotten my apron; 
pray give me one, it is the principal part of my dress.” 

“Ask him for a lock of his hair, Flora,” said Lady 
Kingsburgh, in Gaelic. 

“Oh, Lady Kingsburgh, I could not think of such a 
thing ! ” 

“You are talking in Gaelic, ladies, what is it you are 
speaking of? ” 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


219 


“ Lady Kingsburgh has requested me to ask for a lock 
of your Highness’ hair,” replied Flora. 

“And you are quite welcome to cut off as much as you 
please,” said Charles, as he laid his head on the lap of his 
fair preserver. 

Flora severed a lock from his head and presented half of 
it to her friend, keeping the rest for herself. 

Before he left the house, his host made him the very wel- 
come present of a pair of shoes, and tying together the 
wretched old shoes the Prince had taken off, Kingsburgh 
hung them carefully on a peg, observing that they might be 
very useful to him on some future day.* 

“In what way? I should be glad to know,” inquired 
the Prince. 

“ I will tell you. When you arc fairly settled at St. 
James’, I shall come and see you, introducing myself by 
shaking these old shoes at you, to remind you of the night 
you were sheltered and entertained under my roof.” 

With the graceful case for which he was so remarkable, 
Charles thanked Lady Kingsburgh for her kindness, and, 
accepting a small snuff-box “as a keepsake,” he proceeded 
with his host to Portree, whence he expected to find a boat 
to carry him to Raasay. 

As’ soon as he had gone, Lady Kingsburgh went to his 
bedroom, and taking the sheets from the bed, protested they 
should never again be used or washed, but that they should 
be laid aside for his own winding sheet. 

As soon as Kingsburgh and the Prince had got some dis- 
tance from the house, Charles withdrew into a thicket and 
exchanged his female attire for a Highland dress, and then 

♦“The old Shoes of the unfortunate Prince wero preserved,” says 
Mr. Jesse, “With religious care by Kingsburgh ns long as he lived, 
and after his death were cut to pieces, and given by his family to 
their Jacobite friends on various occasions. 


220 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


prepared to part with his generous preserver, the boat which 
had been procured with much difficulty being in waiting. 

Bidding Flora an affectionate farewell, he kissed her, 
saying : 

“For all that has happened, Madam, I hope we shall yet 
meet at St. James’.” 

Alas ! reader, a very few days later, the noble and heroic 
girl was placed in custody and sent to London to be treated 
as the Government should deem proper ; for it had speedily 
transpired that sho had accompanied Charles in his wan- 
derings. 

As to poor Kingsburgh, he, too, was arrested and sent 
to Fort Augustus, thrown in a dungeon and loaded with 
irons, and whilst being examined was reminded of the “fine 
opportunity he had lost of making his own fortune, and that 
of his family, for ever.” 

“Had I silver and gold,” replied the noble old man, 
“ piled heap upon heap to the bulk of yonder mountains, it 
would not afford me half the pleasure I feel from doing what 
I have done.” 

“ Should you know the Pretender’s head if you saw it?” 
was the brutal rejoinder. 

“ I should know the head very well if it were on the 
shoulders.” 

‘ ‘But what if the head be not on the shoulders, do you 
think you should know it in that case ? ” 

“In that case I will not pretend to know anything 
about it.” 

Poor Kingsburgh was kept in close confinement till re- 
leased by the act of grace a year later. 

Hoping to find a French vessel on the lookout, Charles 
stayed but two days in Raasay. Moreover, he judged it 
wise never to prolong his stay in one place, for even this 


221 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 

secluded island in the Atlantic Lad felt the fury of the 
Duke’s soldiers, almost every cottage having been burnt to 
the ground. At the sight of the ruins he was seDsibly 
affected. 

“ This is a hard and bitter life,” said he to his host, 
young Raasay, and his cousin Macleod; “but I would 
rather live ten years in this way, than be taken by my ene- 
mies ; but I am surprised myself that I am able to bear 
such constant hardships and fatigue. Since the battle of 
Cullodcn I have endured more than sufficient to kill a hun- 
dred men. Surely, Providence does not design this for 
nothing ; I am certainly reserved for some good end.” 

“And what does your Highness think your enemies would 
do with you if you fell into their hands ? ” asked Macleod. 

“ I think they would not dare to take my life publicly, 
but I do dread being privately destroyed by poison or assas- 
sination.” 

Fifteen miles further on, after a perilous voyage, the 
fugitive Prince effected a landing and passed the night in a 
wretched cow-house, and the nest morning he proceeded on 
his way, accompanied by Norman Macleod ; and proposing 
that the latter should act the master and he the man, he 
divested himself of his tartan waistcoat, which he made 
Malcolm put on, wearing in exchange his companion’s shirt* 
He then took off his periwig, put it in his pocket, and tied 
a dirty white napkin under his chin ; the buckles he stripped 
from his shoes, the ruffles from his shirt, and taking a small 
bundle in his hand, he personated a servant, Walking at a 
respectful distance behind his master. 

Long and weary was the journey, but early on the follow- 
ing morning they arrived at the country of the Mackinnons, 
and the first two persons whom they met the Prince knew as 
having been involved in the insurrection j and in spite of 
19 * 


222 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


the disguise of Charles, they, too, recognized his well 
remembered features, and burst into a flood of tears. 

“ Your display of the grief you feel may prove fatal to 
the Prince,” exclaimed Malcolm; “for God’s sake, re* 
strain it.” 

No description could by any possibility exaggerate the 
wretched appearance and condition of Charles Edward at 
this time, and well might those poor Highlanders have been 
so affected. It is a fact, for I do not draw upon fiction as 
to these details of the unfortunate grandson of James the 
Second, that lie was reduced to the very lowest ebb of mis- 
ery and distress, and that lie bore up with almost unpara- 
lcllcd cheerfulness under the wretchedness that it was so 
frequently his hard lot to endure. 

‘ ‘ I wish you would at once take me to the home of your own 
brother-in-law, Malcolm,” observed Charles, after having 
parted with the Highlanders. 

“ I shall introduce your ltoyal Highness, then, as the son 
of a surgeon residing at Crieff, who is supposed to be hiding 
somewhere about Skye ; ” and Charles Edward gladly giving 
assent, a short walk brought them thither. 

It was not long before an excellent Highland breakfast 
was set before them, Charles continuing to act the part of 
servant to Macleod ; and when their meal was ended they 
thankfully laid^ down to snatch a few hours rest, whilst Mac- 
leod’s sister, who was mistress of the house, kept watch at 
the top of a hill hard by. They were soon fast asleep, but 
the Prince was the first to wake, and when Malcolm arose 
lie was much amused to sec him dandling the baby to whom 
he was singing. 

Macleod expressed his surprise, and Charles for a moment 
forgot he was personating a servant. 

“Who knows,” said he, “this little fellow may become 
a captain in my service yet.” 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


223 


Quickly, however, was he reminded of his want of caution, 
for looking at liim with an expression of supreme contempt 
on her hard and withered features, an old woman who was 
standing by, exclaimed: 

‘ ‘ Hout, nac ; it is muckle mair likely hersell may be an 
auld serjeant in the bairn’s company.” 



224 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER XI. 


A ROYAL WANDERER. 



PENDING but one day in the hospitable home 
of John Mackinnon, Charles Edward, after 
many hardships and narrow escapes, arrived 
* at liorrodaile, the residence of Augtis Mac- 


donald .having been conveyed thither by Mackinnon him- 
self, after he had taken leave of his friend Maclcod. 

On approaching the wretched hut in which Augus was 
then residing, Charles was seized with an unutterable aver- 
sion to enter. At every step, indeed, in this dreadful wan- 
dering through the Highlands, his heart was wrung with 
sorrow by beholding the misery into which all those were 
plunged who were loyal to his race. In no instance, how- 
ever, had he felt so acutely as in the present. The former 
comfortable and happy home of the brave Highlander had 
been burnt to the ground, and he had also lost a son at the 
fatal field of Culloden.* 

The Prince paused as he entered the hut, his eyes over- 
flowed with tears, and then advancing to Mrs. Macdonald, 
who had come forward to meet him, lie exclaimed : 

“Is it possible, Madam, you can endure the sight of one 
who has caused so much misery to yourself and your 
family ? ” 

“Yes,” and a mournful smile lighted up her face as the 
poor lady spoke, “cyen had I lost all my sons in your 
Royal Highness’ service.” 

*On his way home, Mackinnon was seized by two of the militia, 
and at once taken before a certain Captain Ferguson, whose name is 
stdl held in abhorrence. He was sharply questioned, and subjected 
to the most rigorous examination; and when it was found that no 
information could be elicited from him concerning the Prince, Fer- 
guson commauded him to be stripped and tied to a tree, where he 
was lashed till the blood gushed from both his sides. He was then 



OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


225 


Carefully, then, did this noble woman and her husband 
supply his wants, whilst the poor wanderer lingered yet a 
few days in a hut hard by, and then a little while in another, 
until one morning Augus received news from Glcnaladalc, 
one of the Prince’s friends, that he had prepared at Morac 
a more secure asylum for the hunted-down royal wanderer. 

Tho enemies of the unhappy Charles Edward had, how- 
ever, traced him from Skye, and he was now encompassed 
on all sides. Near Loch Nevis vessels of war were stationed, 
also several bodies of troops, a cordon of which was placed 
around the entire district, and no person was allowed to pass 
without being examined by sentries placed at frequent and 
equal distances from each other. 

Having bade farewell to Augus and his wife, Charles 
Edward, accompanied only by Glcnaladalc, wended his way 
through mountainous passes and a rugged district, from 
whence, on reaching the brow of a hill, he sent a message 
to a chief, Cameron of Glonpcan, to send him help in his 
direst need. 

It was drawing near midnight as they descended into a 
.deep ravine, having ascertained that a body of Argyllshire 
militia were approaching the hill on which they had been 
stationed ; and it was not without a feeling of alarm that 
they beheld a man advancing towards them. It proved, 
however, to be Cameron himself, laden with a small supply 
of bread and butter, and that was the only food Charles 
Edward tasted during the next four days. 

Then they wandered on again through rugged ravines 
and mountainous passes almost inaccessible, so choked up 
were they by rocks and trees, and, at length, on reaching 
the summit of a hill, lie could perceive the enemy’s camp 
within a mile of him ; and in the silence which reigned 
around when night had fallen, he could hear distinctly the 


226 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


challenge of the sentries, and could see the blaze of light 
issuing from the watch-fires, which made it evident to him 
that he had no greater chance of escape by night than by day* 

Charles and his companions then proceeded to a hiding 
place on the brow of a hill, the poor Prince keeping himself 
concealed when those who were with him left him in search 
of food, but they quickly hastened back with the intelligence 
that a party of soldiers were drawing near. Their only hope 
of avoiding detection consisted in their remaining close to- 
gether. They therefore concealed themselves in a cave, the 
entrance to which was nearly choked up with trees, whilst 
the soldiers searched around in vain. Desperately small as 
the chance of escape through the military cordon drawn 
around them would seem to be, to remain where they were 
was scarcely less so, added to which it was utterly impossi- 
ble to procure provisions. Therefore they resolved to brave 
the worst, and made the attempt that samo night. 

They made their way over a steep hill, and, in conse- 
quence of his foot slipping, Charles would havo been dashed 
to atoms by falling over a steep precipice, had not his com- 
panions caught him, one by each arm. 

On reaching the summit of tho hill, they crept stealthily 
along till within earshot of the sentinels ; and as tho day 
began to break, they crawled up a deep and narrow ravine, 
and watching an opportunity till tho backs of the men were 
turned towards them, they crept on all-fours, in the deepest 
silence, till they found themselves out of sight of their 
enemies. 

Then bidding farewell to one of his faithful friends, Cam- 
eron of Glenpean, Charles, as soon as night again set in, 
commenced his journey with Glenaladale, his brother, and 
a man from Glengarry, whom he had met in the hills, and 
whose father had been killed by the soldiers on the previous 


OB, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


227 


day. Suddenly, Glenaladalc discovered that he had lost the 
Prince’s purse, containing all they possessed, about forty 
guineas, and, notwithstanding the objections of Charles, ho 
went in search of it, accompanied by his friends, Charles 
concealing himself behind an aclivity till they should return. 

Charles had only been a few moments concealed when the 
sound of many footsteps struck upon his ear, and a party of 
soldiers defiled along the very path by which he would have 
proceeded but for the loss of his purse. The loss was but 
temporary, too, for Glenaladalc shortly returned with it. 
Its loss had been the means, under God, of saving the life 
of Charles, and they all united in returning Him hearty 
thanks, the Prince expressing his conviction that he was 
under the special care of Providenco. 

All that night did Charles and his companions pursue 
their way through glen and valley. On the following morn- 
ing, seeking a hiding place for a few hours, the painful 
march was again resumed, but what was their surprise and 
horror when they heard the sound of the shots of the brutal 
soldiery driving away the unfortunate people who had fled 
to the hills with their cattle ? 

For many hours the rain fell in one ceaseless downpour, 
and neither bit nor drop had passed the lips of Charles and 
his companions all the day. The night had again closed in, 
it was still raining heavily, and the wind by fits and starts 
was howling in dismal gusts. 

At length he reached the braes of Glenmoriston, and 
without food or fire, drenched to the skin, his only shelter 
was a cave, into which he crept. It was narrow in extent, 
the ground rugged and rocky, but it saved him from the 
pitiless storm. 


228 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE SEVEN MEN OF GLENMORISTON. 

HE Seven Men of Glenmoriston were indi- 
viduals proscribed by the English Government 
on account of their having taken up arms for the 
House of Stuart. These men had beheld their 
homes laid waste, those they loved slain, and their fellow- 
clansmen sent as slaves to the Plantations. 

They then formed an association, binding themselves by 
a solemn vow to let no opportunity slip of aveDging them- 
selves on tho Duke of Cumberland and his soldiers, to stand 
by each other, and never to yield up their arms. 

They lurked in eaves by tho lonely hillside, and skulked 
about amongst tho rugged fastnesses of the wildest districts, 
whcnco they emerged to attack the military parties in tho 
neighborhood, carrying off their cattle and other spoil. 

Their daring exploits at length made them the terror of 
the military, four of them having on one occasion attacked 
a party of seven soldiers who had some wine and provisions 
in their custody ; they shot two of them dead, and also an 
informer, whose head they cut off and stuck on a treo by 
the high road. They had also attacked and kept up a run- 
ning fire in a narrow ravine on a largo body of the military, 
headed by three officers, till the former fled, leaving their 
cattle behind them. 

A Highlander had appeared before these men, in their 
own stronghold, and had craved their protection for Glcn- 
aladale and two Jacobite gentlemen, mentioning a desolate 
spot in the midst of the braes as that in which they might 
be seen. Three out of the seven at once set forth, little 
dreaming whom they were to meet. 




OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


229 


Ragged, forlorn, and miserable was tbc condition of 
Charles Edward; but no sooner had ho appeared beforo 
them than they recognized the Prince, and transported with 
delight, they led him in triumph to their cave. 

For forty-eight long and weary hours he had borne a 
severe fast and exposure to the inclemency of the weather, 
and he did indeed rejoice in the warmth and comfort lie met 
with in the robbers’ stronghold, in which he was at once 
refreshed with a plentiful meal of mutton, butter, cheese, 
and whiskey. 

The four men who were absent were away on a foraging 
expedition; they returned on the morrow, and these also 
recognized the Prince, and Glenaladale, at his request, 
administered the awful oath in use in the Highlands, “that 
all the curses the Scriptures did pronounce might come upon 
them and all their posterity if they did not stand firm to the 
Prince in the greatest danger, and if they should discover 
to any person, man, woman, or child, that the Prince was in 
their keeping till once his person should be out of danger.” 

So faithfully did they keep this oath, that not one of them 
mentioned the Prince had been their guest until a year after 
his escape to the Continent. 

Three weeks did Charles abide in caves and hiding places 
known to the Glenmoriston men, during which time they 
served him with the most devoted attention, though the means 
they often had recourse to were odd and faulty enough. 

The tattered state of his clothing shocked them, and to rem- 
edy the difficulty, they stopped on their way some servants 
who were going to Fort Augustus, seized a portmanteau be- 
longing to their master, and gave its contents to the Prince. 

Not long had he been with these lawless men before ho 
obtained an influence over them. He saw the power he 
possessed, and turned it to a good purpose. He made Glen- 
20 


. 230 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


aladale his interpreter, and discovering that they were much 
given to the practice of swearing, reproved them so often, 
that they at last gave up the custom ; and he also set them 
a powerful example for good in the exactitude with which 
they beheld him retire from their company morning and 
evening to offer up his devotions in private. 

Entirely did bonny Prince Charlie win the love of the 
warm-hearted Highlanders. They esteemed him for the 
pleasure he took in athletic sports ; they loved him because 
lie made himself one of themselves and identified himself 
with their own interests, scorning not to become their asso- 
ciate; and to make them perfectly at their ease in his com- 
pany, he forbade them to take off their bonnets, and during 
his meals made them cat with him, with their food upon 
their knees. 

Charles ardently desired to meet with Lochicl, whom he 
fancied was concealing himself in the w'ilds of Badcnoch, 
aud when little more than a month had elapsed, ho prepared 
to bid farewell to the Seven Men of Glcnmoriston, how 
earnestly did those outlawed mountaineers beseech him not 
to leave them. 

“ Remain with us,” they one and all exclaimed before he 
left them; “the mountains of gold which the Government 
has set as a price on your head may lead some gentleman to 
betray you who can live on the wages of his dishonor in a 
foreign land ; to us there is no such temptation ; we speak 
no language but our own; we cannot live in any other coun- 
try ; were we to touch a hair of your head, the very moun- 
tains would crush us beneath their weight.” * 

It was not indeed without a feeling of regret that the 
Prince bade them farewell, first presenting them with 
twenty-four guineas, to be divided amongst them. 


* Chambers’ Hist. Rebellion. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


231 


CHAPTER XIII. 

CONDEMNED TO DEATH. 

N the same Jay on which Charles Edward fled 
for shelter to the braes of Glenmoriston, Lord 
Balmerino was summoned to take his trial at 
Westminster Hall on a charge of high trea- 
son, together with the Earls of Cromartic and Kilmar- 
nock. Lord Balmerino was the first person of rank who 
fell into the hands of the Government. He had been taken 
to Inverness after the battle of Culloden ; he was then sent 
by sea to London, and, with the two earls, committed to the 
Tower, and brought to trial before their peers on the 28th 
of July, 174G. 

The scene is said to have been of a most impressive and 
solemn character. 

Bills of indictment had been found against these unfortu- 
nate noblemen by the grand jury of Surrey. They were 
very long, and stated, amongst many other things, “that 
not having the fear of God in their hearts, and being moved 
by the instigation of the devil, they had tried to exalt the 
person pretending to be Prince of Wales.” 

The Sergeant-at-Arms was then called to make proclama- 
tion for the Lieutenant of the Tower to bring his prisoners 
to the Bar, which he did in the following manner: 

“0 yes, 0 yes, 0 yes, Lieutenant of the Tower, bring 
forth your prisoners to the Bar, together with copies of 
commitments, pursuant to the order of the House of 
Lords.” 

With the axe carried before them, but the edge turned 
from them, Lord Balmerino and his companions were 



232 THE LIMERICK VETERAN j 

brought to the Bar, and falling on their knees, were ordered 
to rise by the Lord High Steward. The copy of commit- 
ment having been read, the Clerk of the Court severally 
arraigned the three noblemen. Lord Balmcrino’s turn 
came the last. 

“ Are you guilty or not guilty of this treason, Arthur, 
Lord Balmerino? ,, 

With pale but composed countenance, the prisoner replied : 

“ Will your Lordship be pleased to hear me? I will be 
very brief. I have only two or three words to say. I shall 
not take up your time long, my Lord.” 

“ Your Lordship is now arraigned,” said the Lord High 
Steward; “the indictment has been read to you; now is 
your time to plead.” 

“If I should plead guilty, there is no occasion to speak 
after that.” 

“This is not a proper time to speak of other matters. It 
is my duty to inform your Lordship of the rules of law, 
which require that you should first plead to the indict- 
ment.” 

“ Then, my Lord, you will oblige me take up more of 
your time than I had intended, for I cannot plead guilty. 
I will not waste your time. I require to be heard, and then 
I will plead.” 

“ If your Lordship has anything material to say, you may 
mention it.” 

“My Lords,” said Balmcrino, looking on the assembled 
peers, “ if there be any fault in the form of indictment, or 
if it is so faulty that no judgment can be given upon it, I 
wish to know whether I can be indicted again?” Ylicn lie 
went on to say that he could prove lie was twelve miles from 
Carlisle when lie was indicted for being preseut at the tak- 
ing of the city. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


233 


This objection, he was told, would depend on the evidence, 
which could not be entered into till he had pleaded. The 
question being again put to him : 

“ Arthur, Lord Balmerino, arc you guilty or not guilty ? ” 
“ Not guilty,” he replied, in a loud voice. 

“ Culprit, how will your Lordship be tried?” 

“ By God and my peers,” replied the venerable old man. 
“ God send your Lordship a good deliverance,” was the 
reply, and the Sergeant-at-Arms made proclamation : 

“ 0 yes, 0 yes, 0 yes, all manner of persons that will 
give evidence against Arthur, Lord Balmerino, on behalf 
of our sovereign lord the King, let them come forth and they 
shall be heard, for now he stands at the Bar upon his 
deliverance.” 

Then Sir Richard Lloyd, counsel for the King, observed 
that as he had pleaded “ not guilty,” it was incumbent on 
those who had the honor to serve the Crown to prove his 
guilt. 

Poor Balmerino, true to the last to the interests for which 
lie died, listened with a still, calm countenance to the speech 
of the counsel for the King, a few lines of which I transcribe 
for such as may not have examined the State Trials of that 
most unfortunate period : 

“ Rebellion surely is the sin of witchcraft. Our religion 
is a reasonable service ; its establishment is the law of the 
land; and for a Protestant peer to endeavor to' extirpate our 
most holy religion, and to introduce superstition and idola- 
try amongst us is a proposition as absurd as transubstan- 
tiation, &c. ***** * 

"The prisoner, as a reward for his treachery, was 
advanced to be the captain of the second troop of life 
guards attending on the Pretender’s son, and entered Carl- 
isle with his sword drawn, colors displayed, and drums beat- 
20 * 


234 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


ing, wearing a white cockade in his hat. lie was present 
at several places where the Pretender was proclaimed, and 
was finally defeated with the rest of the rebels, and made a 
prisoner on the field of Cullodcn.” 

Then followed a long speech of the Attorney-General, 
charging him with a desire to dethrone his Majesty, extir- 
pate his royal family, and set up a Popish Pretender in his 
his place. 

Several witnesses were then examined, some of which 
were not very clear as to the time in the month the prisoner 
was at Carlisle. 

At the conclusion of their examination, the Lord High 
Steward remarked, that though tho witnesses could not 
swear that he was there on tho day named in the indict- 
ment, yet they had proved he had been in arms at the head 
of a troop of rebels, and the council and judges expressing 
the samo opinion, Balmerino was removed from the Bar, 
and the question was put severally to each of the assembled 
peers by the Lord High Steward, beginning with the young- 
est, as follows, saying: 

“Henry Arthur, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, what says 
your Lordship? is Arthur, Lord Balmerino, guilty or not 
guilty of the high treason whereof he stands indicted ? ” 

Amidst breathless silence, the young peer stood up in his 
place, his head uncovered, and laying his right hand on his 
breast, he answered : 

“ Guilty, upon my honor.” 

He was again summoned in the same order as before, and 
acquainted that he was found guilty of the crimo of high 
treason. 

On the second day he applied for benefit of counsel, 
which was accorded to him, he being under tho belief that 
the flaw in the bill of indictment relative to the time he was 
at Carlisle would quash it so as to render it illegal. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


235 


The chief plea set up by the friends of Balmerino was, 
that as the hill of indictment was issued by the grand jury 
of Surrey, in which county no offence had been committed, 
that the whole thing should be set aside, or at least an arrest 
of judgment be granted, and this idea, being submitted to 
his counsel, was thought by him of no avail. 

Resolved to stand by his principles to the last, and never 
sue for life in the suppliant terms used by his fellow-prison- 
ers or have recourse to their own servile language, in tho 
faint hope that the stony heart of George the Second would 
be touched by their appeal to his Most Sacred Majesty, he 
simply expressed his sorrow that he had taken up any unne- 
cessary time, and begged his Lordship to intercede with tho 
King. 

The three peers then had sentence of death passed on 
them, as follows. This sentence was according to the brutal 
spirit of the times : 

“ The judgment of the law is, and this high court doth 
award, that you return to tho prison of the Tower from 
whence you came; from thence you must be drawn to the 
place of execution ; when you come there you must be 
hanged by the neck, but not till you are dead, for you must 
be cut down alive ; then your bowels must be taken out and 
burnt before your faces; then your heads must be severed 
from your bodies, and your bodies must be divided into four 
quarters, and these must bo at the King’s disposal. And 
God Almighty be merciful to your souls.” 

The sentence of hanging was, as is usual, commuted to 
that of beheading, on account of the rank of the prisoners. 
The old peer had not been suffered to be much alone during 
those sorrowful days that intervened between his committal 
to the Tower and his execution. lie had been very anxious 
that “ his pretty Peggy,” as he was wont to call his heart. 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


236 

broken wife, should be in the Tower with him ; but that 
favor being refused, she took lodgings for her niece, Marion, 
and herself in East Smithfield; so that the husband and 
wife were constantly together duriog the time of his impri- 
sonment. 

Attacked by a severe illness when on his way from Lord 
Balmerino’s home in Argyllshire, Edward St. John was 
incapacitated, perhaps fortunately for himself, from being at 
the fatal field of Cullodcn. 

lie had taken advantage of the very first days of his con- 
valescence to repair to London, on hearing of the arrest and 
approaching trial of Lord Balmerino, passed the best part 
of his time with the prisoner, and when not so employed, 
was engaged in the task of soothing the anguish of Marion 
and her aunt. 

Maintaining perfect calmness to the last, without at the 
same time showing any symptoms of bravado, this good 
peer prepared for death, his single sorrow consisting in the 
reflection that he had not died in his armor at Cullodcn, 
beside his friend and brother in arms, the veteran Marshal. 

The 18th of August being the day appointed for the exe- 
cution, at six o’clock in the morning a troop of the life 
guards, another of horse-grenadier guards, and a thousand 
foot guards, marched to Tower Hill. A large number of 
them were posted around the scaffold, and the remainder 
were drawn up in two lines, reaching from the Tower gate 
to the scaffold itself. At eight o’clock, the sheriff, accom- 
panied by the under sheriffs and their officers, proceeded to 
the house they had hired for the reception of the prisoners 
on Tower Hill, and then went in procession to the outer gate 
of the Tower, and, according to ancient custom, knocked at 
the gate, the Warden asking from within: 

“ Who’s there ?” 


OR, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 


237 


“ The Sheriffs of London and Middlesex.” 

‘ ‘ What do you want ? ” 

“ The bodies of William, Earl of Kilmarnock, and 
Arthur, Lord Balmerino.” 

“I will go and inform the Lieutenant of the Tower,” 
replied the Warden. 

The same flight of stairs in the Tower led to the apart- 
ments of both these unfortunate noblemen, and on descend- 
ing the staircase they encountered each other ; they shook 
hands warmly, and for the first time, save during the agony 
of parting with his wife and the two young people, Lord 
Balmerino betrayed symptoms of emotion. 

“My Lord,” said he, “I am very sorry to have your 
company in this expedition ; but I beg to ask your Lordship 
one question.” 

“Any question, my Lord, that you shall now think 
proper to ask, I believe I shall have no reason to decline 
answering.” 

“Why, then, my Lord, did you ever sec or know of any 
order, signed by the Prince (meaning the Pretender’s son), 
to give no quarter at the battle of Cullodcn ? ” 

“No, my Lord.” 

“ Nor I, either, and therefore it seems to be an accusa- 
tion to justify their own murderous schemes.” 

“ No, my Lord, I do not think that inference can bo 
drawn from it ; because, while I was a prisoner at Inver- 
ness, I was informed by several officers that there was such 
an order, signed George Murray, and that it was in the 
Duke’s custody.” 

“Lord Gcorgo Murray!” replied Balmerino; “why, 
then, they should not charge it on the Prince. But, dear 
Lord Kilmarnock,” he added, “I am only sorry that I can- 
not pay all this reckoning alonc.^ Once more, farewell for 
ever.” 


238 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


Whilst the form of delivering over the prisoners to the 
Sheriff was being gone through, the Deputy Lieutenant cried 
out, according to ancient usage, “ God bless King George !” 
to which Lord Kilmarnock assented by a bow, but Lord 
Balmerino exclaimed : 

“ God bless King James ! ” 

The procession then moved on, one of the Sheriffs walk- 
ing with either peer; their two hearses and a mourning 
coach bringing up the rear; two Presbyterian clergymen 
being with Lord Kilmarnock, and the chaplain of the Tower 
with Lord Balmerino. 



OK, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


239 


CHAPTER XIY. 



IN MEM01UAM. 

ARK ! that is ray summons, my dear boy,’’ said 
Lord Balmcrino to Edward ; and his eyes grew 
humid and his hand trembled as he pushed 
back the clustering looks from the brow of his 
young friend and imprinted a fervent kiss on his fore- 
head. 

He was right. The ghastly scene of Kilmarnock’s exe- 
cution was over, the scaffold set in order for the next victim, 
and the entrance of the Warden was of itself a notice to 
him that his own time had come. 

Edward was on his knees, the hand of his old friend closely 
locked within his own and wet with his tears, and it required 
a strong effort of courage on the part of Balmcrino to break 
from him. Affection can make the bravest man weak as 
any woman, and can produce emotion such as torture or 
even death itself cannot cause. 

“ I suppose my Lord Kilmarnock is no more,” said he to 
the Sheriff. “ How did the executioner perform his duty ? ” 

“ With one blow, my Lord.” 

“ Then it was well done. And now, gentlemen, I will 
detain you no longer, fer I desire not to protract my life. 
Farewell, a last farewell, dear Edward,” he said. “May 
you and Marion and my dear Peggy spend many happy days 
together.” Then, cheerfully saluting all present, he drew 
tears from every eye but his own. Graceful without affec- 
tation, cheerful but not presumptuous, the aged peer had won 
the affection of all who had come in contact with him during 
his incarceration in the Tower. 

Accepting the offer of refreshment, lie took a small piece 





240 THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

of bread and a glass of wine ; bat before swallowing the 
latter, lie said : 

“ I beg you, gentlemen, drink me ain degrac to liaiveu.” 
Then lie besought God to help and succor him, and avowed 
his willingness to die. 

“ I am ready and prepared to meet my death. Lead on, 
gentlemen, I beg you, lead on,” said he, and with an un- 
daunted step ho went on liis rough and thorny way, and 
astonished those present who knew not the greatness of his 
soul. His noble form was arrayed in the very same regi- 
mentals, blue turned up with red, which he had worn at the 
battle of Culloden. 

He then walked round tho scaffold, bowed to the assem- 
bled crowd, and paused to read the inscription on his coffin. 
It ran as follows : “ Arthurus , Dominus dc Balmerino, dccol- 
Jatus, 13 die Augusti, 1746. Aetat suae 58.”* 

“ It is quite right,” said he, and passing to the block with 
a smile on his face, he looked calmly upon it, calling it his 
pillow of rest. 

Then he drew a paper from his pocket, the contents of 
which lie read to those immediately around him, and deliv- 
ered it to tho Sheriff, to do with as he should think fit; and 
calling for tho executioner, who was about to ask his for- 
giveness, Lord Balmerino stopped him, saying : 

“Friend, you need not ask my forgiveness ; the execution 
of your duty is commendable. Here arc three guineas for 
you,” he added, placing them in the man’s hand ; “I never 
had much money, and this is all I now possess; I wish it 
was more for your sake ; and I am sorry I can add nothing 
to it but my coat and waistcoat.” 

*For account of trial and execution of Arthur, Lord Balmerino, 
see State Trials of 1746. 

Inscription on his coffin : “Arthur, Lord Balmerino, beheaded tho 
13th of August, 1746. Aged 58.” 


OK, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 241 

Drawing them off as lie spoke, lie placed them on the 
coffin for the executioner. 

Then, amidst a dead silence, lie prepared himself for the 
block by putting on a flannel waistcoat that had been made 
for the occasion, and a plaid cap upon his head ; then, going 
to the block, he showed the executioner what lie intended to 
be the signal for the blow; it was to be the dropping down 
of his arms. 

Then he turned to Edward, who had insisted on accom- 
panying him to the scaffold, saying : 

“ Be calm, and comfort my dear wife and poor Marion. 
Remember death is but the gate of eternity.” 

Then glancing round on the concourse of spectators, he 
said : 

“I fear lest there should be any who may think my 
behavior bold;” and turning to a gentleman near him, he 
added: “ Remember, sir, what I tell you: it arises from a 
firm confidence in God and a clear conscience.” 

He then took the axe from the hand of the executioner, 
felt the edge, returned it to him again, and showed him 
where to strike the blow. “ Have no fear, I beg you,” lie 
said. “I exhort you to do your work firmly and with a 
good heart,” adding, “ for in so doing, friend, you will show 
your mercy.” 

Then, with a glad countenance, as if bidden to a wedding 
feast, he knelt down at the block, and with his arms extended, 
he prayed aloud : 

“0 Lord, reward my friends, forgive my enemies, and 
receive my soul.” 

Then he gave the signal to the executioner. 

Terrified at his intrepidity and the suddenness with which 
ho had given the signal, though the executioner gave the 
blow in the part directed, unhappily the force was not suffi- 
21 


242 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN ‘ 

cient to sever the head from the body, though enough to 
deprive the sufferer of all sensation. 

After the first blow, the head of the sufferer fell back 
heavily upon his shoulders, but it was not severed until two 
more blows had been dealt by the clumsy headsman. The 
head was then received by the valet of young St. John in a 
piece of red baize, and, with his body, afterwards deposited 
in his coffin and delivered to the latter for burial. 

The paper given by Lord Balmcrino to the Sheriff when 
on the scaffold ran as follows : 

\ 

“ I was brought up in true loyal and anti-revolution principles, 
and I hope the world is convinced that they stick to me to the last. 

“I must acknowledge, however, that I did a very inconsiderate 
thing, for which I am heartily sorry, in accepting of a company of 
foot from the Princess Anne, who I knew had no more right to the 
crown than her predecessor, the Prince of Orange. To make 

amends for what I had done, I joined the Pretender when 

he was in Scotland in 1715, and when all was over, I made my 
escape and lived abroad till the year 1734. 

“In the beginning of that year, I got a letter from my father 
which very much surprised me. It was to let me know he had a 
promise of a remission for me. I did not know what to do. I was 
then, I think, in the Canton of Berne, and had no one to advise 

with, but next morning I wrote a letter to the Pretender, 

who was then in Rome, to acquaint the Pretender that this 

was done without my asking or knowledge, and that I would not 
accept of it without his consent. 

“ I had in reply a letter written in the Pretender's own 

hand, allowing me to go home, and he told me his banker would 
give me money for any traveling charges when I came to Paris, 
which accordingly I got. 

“ When the Pretender’s son came to Edinburgh, I joined 

him, though I might easily have excused myself on account of my 
age ; but I never could have had peace of conscience if I had stayed 
at home. 

“Iam at a loss when I come to speak of the (Pretend- 

er’s son). I am not a lit hand to draw his character. I shall leave 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


243 


that to others. This much only I will say: ho is kind, generous, 
and affectionate to a fault. 

“Pardon me if I say wherever I had the command I never suffered 
any disorder to he committed, as will appear by the Duke of Buc- 
cleuch’s servants at East Park; by the Earl of Findlater’s minis- 
ter, Mr. Latto; and by Mr. Rose, minister at Nairn, who was 
pleased to favor me with a visit when I was at Inverness ; by Mr. 
Stewart, chief servant to the Lord President, at the house of Cul- 
loden; and by several others. All this gives me great pleasure, 
now that I am looking upon the block, on which I am ready to lay 
down my head. And even had it not been my own natural incli- 
nation to protect everybody, it would have been my interest to 

have done it, for (the Pretender’s son), abhorred all those 

who were capable of doing injustice to anyone. 

“ I have heard, since I came to this place, that there has been a 
most wicked report spread, and mentioned in several of the news- 
papers, that the (Pretender’s son), before the battle of Cul- 

loden, had given out orders that no quarter should be given to the 

enemy. This is such an unchristian thing, and so unlike the 

(Pretender’s son), that nobody (the Jacobites) that know him will 
believe it. It is very strange that if there had been any such 
orders, neither the Earl of Kilmarnock, who was colonel of the 
regiment of foot guards, nor I, who was colonel of the second troop 
of life guards, should ever have heard anything of it, especially, 
since we were both at the headquarters the morning before the 
battle, and I am convinced that it is a malicious report indus- 
triously spread to injure 

“ Ever since my confinement in the Tower, when Major White 
or Mr. Fowler did me the honor of a visit, their behavior was 
always so kind and obliging that I cannot find words to express it. 
But I am sorry I cannot say the same of General Williamson ; he 
has treated me barbarously, but net quite so ill as he did the Bishop 
of Rochester ; and had it not been for a worthy clergyman’s advice, 
I should have prayed for him in the words of David, Psalm CIX, 
from the Gth to the 15th verse. 

“I forgive him and all my enemies. I hope you will have the 
charity to believe that I die in peace with all men. Yesterday I 
received the Holy Eucharist from the hands of a clergyman of the 
Church of England, in whose communion I die.” 


244 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


CHAPTER XV. 

FAREWELL TO TIIE HIGHLANDS. 

AREFOOTED, arrayed in an old black kilt 
coat, philabeg and waistcoat, a dirty shirt and 
a long red beard, a gun in his hand, a pistol 
and dirk by his side — such was Prince Charles 
Edward Stuart when joined by his friends Macdonald 
and Cameron, fugitives like himself. The three took up 
their joint residence in a small hut amidst the mountains, 
and from thence he sent a messenger to his beloved Lochiel, 
begging him to join them. 

Lochiel having heard that the Prince had escaped from 
Skye, sent his two brothers in search of him, and after wan- 
dering about apart for some time, they at last fell in with 
each other again, and were so fortunate as to meet witli 
Cameron, who took them at once to the Prince. 

Notwithstanding the great hardships Charles had endured, 
and the destitute appearance he presented, they found him 
in good health and spirits. Some of Cameron’s retainers 
were busily employed roasting a cow which had been killed 
on the previous day, and from which he afterwards made a 
hearty meal. 

During several days he had taken refuge in a wood, some- 
times concealing himself in one of the huts, and then again 
removing to another. 

Altogether, the Prince’s party now numbered eight per- 
sons, and their quiet was suddenly disturbed by Cameron 
ascertaining that a body of military were on the lookout in 
the immediate neighborhood. He had resolved, as well as 
his friends, to sell his life as dearly as possible if caught. 



OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


245 


“ There is nothing to be done but at once to leave the 
wood,” said the Prince, and accordingly, they departed 
under cover of its friendly shade, and reached the top of a 
neighboring hill, and from thence toiled wearily up a rugged 
and craggy mountain path. Wounded repeatedly by the 
jutting rocks and stunted trees with which he and his party 
came in contact, the Prince, who had fasted the whole day, 
suddenly gave way, exclaiming, “ I can proceed no further, 
I am faint and exhausted.” 

“ Try, your Highness, if you can by any possibility con- 
tinue, if supported,” said Cameron; and signing to two 
sturdy Highlanders, they came forwards and tendered their 
support, one on cither side of him ; and onwards he tottered 
for full another mile, and was at length cheered by behold- 
ing in the distance a couple of well known friends, busily 
engaged in cooking by a cheerful fire a portion of a cow 
which was intended for supper. 

But he might not tarry long; he must still proceed on 
his onward course. Could he but reach Badenoch he should 
sec his beloved friend Lochicl. Thither he accordingly 
directed his steps, and when nearing the end of his journey, 
beheld him advancing to meet him. The chieftain at once 
prepared to do him homage on his knees, when Charles 
exclaimed : 

“ My dear Lochiel, forbear! how do you know who may 
be perched on the tops of yonder trees ? If there be anyone 
there, they will be sure from such actions that I am ho 
whom they seek so anxiously, and we may apprehend very 
quickly what the consequences may be.” 

“Allow me, then, to introduce your Boyal Highness to 
my hovel,” replied Lochiel, leading the way; and on enter- 
ing the hut, for it was no better, the Prince was speedily 
entertained at an excellent dinner, consisting of minced col- 
21 * 


246 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


lops and sundry other luxuries. lie was in excellent spirits 
and well pleased with his fare, and during tho few days that 
he dwelt with Lochiel, often made the chieftain smile by 
protesting that “ now he lived like a prince.” 

Still continuing his onward course, on bidding farewell to 
Lochiel, lie traveled on to the heart of a wild and desolate 
district, in which lie remained till the happy day on which 
he made good his escape to France. 

It may readily be conjectured that the old Chevalier had felt 
the deepest anxiety and grief concerning the fate of his son. 
He had caused two vessels to be fitted out, and had deputed 
a certain Colonel Warren to seek for and carry off the Prince. 
Glcnaladale selected Cameron as the person through whom 
all communications should bo made, and at last the long 
delayed hopes of the unfortunate Charles Edward were 
realized. 

A misty morning, preceded by a heavy dew which had 
fallen since daybreak, concealed from the eyes of Charles, 
till he neared the coast, the vessel which was destined to 
bear him far from the persecutions of his foes ; and the 
poor Prince was overwhelmed with joy when, the haze sud- 
denly carried away by the beams of the rising sun, he beheld 
the masts of two vessels in the distance. 

“ Hope deferred maketh the heart sich, hut when the desire 
cometh it is as the tree of life” All his past sufferings were 
forgotten in the joy that filled his heart as he returned thanks 
to God for his many miraculous escapes. 

But the generosity of his character prevailed over fear of 
danger to himself ; for even at this, the cleveuth hour, he 
had a sharp contest with his friends for persisting in increas- 
ing the terrible risk of lingering nearly two days on the coast, 
in order that if any of those who had followed his fortunes 
were lurking about the neighborhood they also might be 
afforded a chance of escape. 


OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


2-17 


At last the moment came when Charles Edward Stuart 
was for ever to hid farewell to the land where his forefathers 
had reigned. Twenty-three gentlemen and one hundred 
and seven men of the humble class embarked on board these 
two vessels, and some amongst them shed tears, so great 
was their love of the country they were leaving forever. 

Can I do better, now that we arc about taking leave of the 
unfortunate and dispossessed heir of three kingdoms, than 
quote to you the words of Lord Mahon, as used by Mr. 
Jesse in his History of the Rebellion ? 

“He went, but not with him departed his remembrance 
from the Highlanders. 

“ For years and years did his name continue enshrined 
in their hearts and familiar to their tongues; their plaintive 
ditties resounding with his exploits and inviting his return. 
Again, in these strains, do they declare themselves ready 
to risk life and fortune for his cause, and maternal fondness 
— the strongest, perhaps, of all human feelings — yields to 
the passionate devotion to Prince Charlie.” 



248 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN J 


CHAPTER XVI. 

FLORENCE COURT. 

T is the month of December, 1752. The day is 
perfectly calm, the sky a bright azure, unfleckcd 
by a single cloud. 

A vessel of somewhat large dimensions, well 
manned, and with many passengers on board, is entering the 
basin formed by the shores of Point Levi and the island of 
Orleans, and a full view of Quebec and the surrounding 
country is exposed to view, displaying at once all that 
nature can prescut that is grand and beautiful. 

Yonder is an immense projecting rock covered with houses 
and cottages and churches, built of a fine grey stone, rising 
gradually one above the other in the form of an amphithe- 
atre. Above, the glittering domes of convents and cathe- 
drals; below, the shipping, the masts sinking into insignifi- 
cance compared with the mountain which towers above them. 

Beyond is the majestic chasm of Montmorency, with its 
snow-white falls, visible upon the elevated shores of Beau- 
port, rising terrace above terrace till they reach the lofty 
mountains that form the background, extending far beyond 
the scan of mortal vision. 

But the vessel has cast anchor and a motley assemblage of 
French Canadians and English settlers arc gathered together 
on the shore, eagerly scanning the countenances of those who 
crowd the deck in hopes of recognizing amongst the passen- 
gers somo dearly loved friend from the old country. 

An English lady, of middle age, dressed in deep mourn- 
ing, and with a sad expression on her handsome features, 
stands a little apart from the eager crowd, leaning over the 
edge of the vessel and looking anxiously towards the shore. 



OR, THE FOSTER SISTERS. 


249 


At last a smile lights up her features as she observes a gen- 
tleman, in the prime of life, leap from a handsome and well- 
appointed cariolc, throw the reins to a servant and then 
hand out a lady. 

The gentleman was enveloped in a thick Bath great- 
coat, fastened around his waist with a sash. lie wore a fur 
cap, fashioned in the helmet style, and Shetland hose out- 
side his boots. The lady was attired in a velvet pelisse, 
lined and trimmed with sables ; also a fur cap and Shetland 
hose; and drawing her arm within his own, he led her 
towards the shore. 

See ! these two have recognized the lonely lady on the 
deck and she, too, sees her friends and waves her handker- 
chief in token of recognition. 

A few moments time and the group of people made way 
for them to pass, and stepping from the deck, the ladies 
meet in a hearty embrace, in spite of the assembled crowd. 

Then these three persons ascended the cariole, a buffalo 
robe was drawn carefully over the new-comer, and they 
started off at a quick pace, the bells jingling on the har- 
ness of the horses as they wended their way to a pretty 
suburb some three or four miles out of the city. 

At length the cariole stopped at the gates of a handsome 
stone residence, situated in the midst of a flourishing plan- 
tation, on the borders of a steep bank overlooking the St. 
Lawrence. A long avenue led to the house, bordered on 
either side by the maple and beech, the white oak and 
chcsnut. 

And now the young people, husband and wife they arc, 
descend from the cariolc, and the gentleman assists the 
weary traveler to alight, and a handsome man of military 
bearing, on whose arm leans a tall and delicate woman, 
hastens forward to welcome her. 


250 


THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 


Do you not guess who these people arc who have sought, 
and have at length found, Rest in a far away Canadian 
home ? 

The elder couple are Maurice and Isabel St. John ; the 
younger arc Edward and Marion, and the lady with the 
sad, pretty face is the stricken widow of Lord Balmerino, 
who, lone and solitary in the old country, at last yielded to 
the solicitations of her niece, and has come to end her days 
at Florence Court. 

And the voices of prattling children are heard, and four 
blooming little ones bound forward. The eldest boy is 
named Reginald, after the good Marshal ; the eldest girl, 
Florence, after his wife ; and the youngest, Isabel ; these 
are the children of the Colonel. The youngest boy, the son 
of Marion and Edward, bears the name of Charles Edward, 
after that most unfortunate of Princes. 

The Lady Florence had died tranquilly in the arms of 
her adopted daughter, shortly after the Socur Madeleine 
had raised the veil which had screened the past from the 
Lady’s knowledge ; she died happily unconscious of the 
death of the Marshal, or of the fatal termination to the last 
effort of the devoted adherents of Prince Charles Edward. 

Isabel was still too ill to leave the Convent, and the Soeur 
Madeleine was the principal mourner at the funeral of the 
Lady Florence. A few days later she returned to her Con- 
vent, having first taken from a cabinet a letter which the 
deceased Lady had written a few days before her death, 
requesting that, after that event, she would send it to Isa- 
bel. A copy of the same she had herself placed in the 
hands of the aged Cure of St. Germains, to be delivered to 
the Marshal when the chances of war should allow of his 
return to his home. 

These packets contained the confession of Margaret, 


OH, TIIE FOSTER SISTERS. 


251 


together with the will of Lady Florence, in that which was 
set asido for her husband. It was opened by Maurice some 
three months later, when he at last returned to the now 
lonely chateau in the valley. 

It had been the earnest wish of Isabel to see and converse 
with the Soeur Madeleine, over the history of whose repent- 
ance she had shed many tears, but the latter had been selected 
by the Superiour of her Convent in order to found a branch 
house of her admirable Order in a distant part of France. 

The long deferred nuptials of Maurice and Isabel were 
celebrated with an utter absence of festivity and rejoicing, 
on account of the recent deaths of the Marshal and his Lady. 
They were married from the hotel of the Baron dc Breteuil, 
the nearest male relative of the Colonel St. John. 

More than ten years had they been separated from each 
other, and as the old paternal home was fraught only with 
painful recollections of the past, the Colonel and his brother 
resolved to dispose of the property, and as some of his late 
mother’s relatives had been settled for some time in Can- 
ada, he, too, decided on there building up a new home. 
After the execution of Lord Balmerino, Edward and his 
bride Marion immediately joined the Colonel and his wife. 

The property which the Lady Florence had inherited 
from her uncle was at last confiscated to the Government. 
Her Irish estates she had fortunately sold, some years pre- 
vious to the last Jacobite rising in favor of Charles Stu- 
art, and with the proceeds had bought a large property in 
France. This was divided between the two brothers, who 
became joint proprietors of a rich plantation in Quebec, 
which, in honor of Lady Florence, they called by the name 
of Florence Court. 

Nor had Maurice and Isabel been unmindful of two faith- 
ful servants who had steadily fulfilled their duty, for Penis 


252 THE LIMERICK VETERAN; 

and his wife, Isabel’s foster-mother, accompanied them 
to Quebec. 

Shortly after having taken possession of her Canadian 
home, not unmindful of the foster-sister, the narration of 
whose history of the last ten years Isabel had read with 
such emotion, for it was not without difficulty she could at 
first credit that proud Margaret and the humble Scour 
Madeleine were one and the same person, she at once wrote 
to her, tenderly shrinking from one word of recurrence to 
the past, but in her own heart of hearts adoring the un- 
speakable mercy of God who had softened the hard, am- 
bitious spirit, and, purifying it from all earthly dross, had 
filled it with humility and love. She congratulated the 
Sister on the joy she must have felt on having the sweet 
consolation of closing the eyes of her former protectress, 
and lamented her own absence in that supreme hour ; and 
ever after they kept up at stated intervals a regular and 
affectionate correspondence with each other. 

This Sceur Madeleine, when in advanced age, played a 
conspicuous part in the stormy epoch of the French Revo- 
lution, and as the history of Isabel, the youngest daughter 
of Maurice St. John, was worked up with the latter days 
of her own life, it may, perhaps, form subject matter for 
a Tale of the Reign of Terror. 

Lady Balmerino, still wearing the sable garb of a widow, 
as a poor outward signification of the grief that dictli not, 
had just arrived in time to celebrate the Christmas festivities 
at the Florence Court plantation. 

* ^ ^ # ;}C * $ ;jc 

It was the eve of that great festival. The night was fine, 
the clear, blue sky glittering with myriads of stars. The 
inmates of Florence Court had just returned in a covered 
cariolc from the midnight Mass in the adjacent Church 


OR THE FOSTER, SISTERS. 253 

of Notre Dame dcs Yictoircs, and they stood for a few mo- 
ments beneath the portico, though all around was a cold, 
white waste of frozen snow, watching the red and playful 
light of the Aurora Borealis, so often seen in Canadian 
winters. Insensibly, the minds of all wandered to other 
lands, to scenes of war and bloodshed, of anarchy and 
strife. Then turned they back to the light and warmth 
of the interior of that happy home. The thoughts of all had 
indeed played truant, and a deep sigh from Lady Balme- 
rino had at once broken the momentary spell. 

“ We have all been looking back, I fear, dearest Lady 
Balmcrino,” said Isabel, on regaining the bright, cheery 
apartment; “ let us, however, strive to think of those ter- 
rible years which have for ever passed with a hastened sor- 
row, mourning our lost ones, not as dead, but sleeping, 
and thanking God fervently that He has brought us out 
of much tribulation into a haven of rest.” 

And as she spoke these words, the silence of the night 
was broken by the sound of melodious voices carolling 
forth a message of peace and good will, and out of the nar- 
row sphere of their own cares and sorrows were they borne 
in spirit even to the stable of Bethlehem, to the Divine Child 
and His Virgin Mother. 

And as the last strains died away on the midnight air, 
the happy emigrants felt that to them and in their own per- 
sons was indeed realized the promise of Peace on earth to 
Men of Good Will. 


[the ind.J 














































